- 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


H.  M.  CALDWLL  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  BOSTON      .X     J* 


CONTENTS 


PACK. 

The  Stickit  Minister n 

Accepted  of  the  Beasts 19 

Trials  for  License  by  the  Presbytery  of  Pitscottie 31 

"  The  Heather  Lintie  " 40 

The  Split  in  the  Marrow  Kirk 54 

The  Probationer 66 

The  Lammas  Preaching 78 

The  Tragedy  of  Duncan  Duncanson,  Schoolmaster 89 

Why  David  Oliphant  Remained  a  Presbyterian 103 

The  Three  Maister  Peter  Slees,  Ministers  in  the  Parish 

of  Couthy ill 

The  Courtship  of  Allan  Fairley,  of  Earlswood rto 

John  Smith,  of  Arkland,  Prepares  his  Sermon 128 

A  Day  in  the  Life  of  the  Reverend  James  Pitbye, 

Minister  of  Nether  Dullarg 136 

The  Glen  Kells  Short  Leet 142 

Boanerges  Simpson's  Incumbrance 152 

A  Knight-Errant  of  the  Streets 163 

The  Progress  of  Cleg  Kelly,  Mission  Worker 172 

Ensamples  to  the  Flock 192 

The  Siege  of  M'Lurg's  Mill 304 


2040454 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PAOS 

The  Minister  of  Scaur  casts  out  with  his  Maker 218 

John  Black,  Critic  in  Ordinary 227 

The  Candid  Friend 235 

A  Midsummer  Idyl 243 

The  Tutor  of  C  urlywee 256 


"Robert  Xouis  Stevenson, 

OF 

SCOTLAND  AND  SAMOA 
I  DEDICATE  THESE  STORIES  OF  THAT  GRAY 

GALLOWAY  LAND,  WHERE, 
ABOUT  THE  GRAVES  OF  THE  MARTYRS 
THE  WHAUPS  ARE  CRYING — HIS 
HEART  REMEMBERS  HOW. 


I  wish  to  acknowledge  a  continual  indebtedness  to  the 
memory  of  the  Reverend  William  Howie  Wylie,  late  editor 
of  the  "  Christian  Leader,"  who  first  gave  hospitality  to  these 
storm-tossed  waifs  and  estrays.  They  are  reprinted  from  the 
columns  of  that  journal  by  the  courtesy  of  his  sou,  the  present 
proprietor. 


A  LETTER    DECLARATORY    TO    THE 
SECOND  EDITION. 


DEAR  Louis  STEVENSON, — It  is,  I  think,  a  re- 
mark of  your  own  that  the  imprudences  of  men, 
even  oftener  than  their  ill  deeds,  come  home  to 
roost.  At  least,  if  you  have  not  so  remarked  it, 
you  have  not  lived  so  long  without  observing  it. 
Now,  in  somewise,  you  have  at  least  a  god-papa's 
responsibility  for  the  "  Stickit  Minister,"  and  if 
you  have  no  spoon  of  silver  for  the  poor  fellow, 
you  will  be  expected  at  the  least  duly  to  hear  his 
catechism. 

A  month  ago  when,  entirely  without  permission, 
I  dedicated  the  first  edition  of  my  prose  first-born 
to  you,  shame  kept  me  from  further  connecting 
you  with  what  no  one  but  yourself  might  ever 
read.  As  for  you,  I  had  you  in  a  cleft  stick,  as 
you  shall  presently  hear.  But  now  a  second  edi- 
tion and  a  preface  imperatively  required  have 
together  thawed  my  blateness.  But  it  occurs  to 
me  that  you  may  deny  any  parental  responsibility, 

7 


8  A  LETTER   DECLARATORY 

even  vicarious.  Well,  as  much  is  mostly  done 
on  these  occasions.  In  that  case  we  will  proceed 
to  lead  the  proof.  You  have,  no  doubt,  forgotten 
a  power  of  good  law  in  your  time,  and  might 
have  forgotten  even  more  had  you  even  known  it. 
But  not  the  wit  of  the  Great  Lord  President  him- 
self in  his  best  days  could  have  shaken  this  case 
of  mine. 

Let  me  then  suggest  to  you  Saranac  Lake,  a 
bleak  sheet  of  ice  "  somewhere  in  America  " — east 
winds,  hotels  with  a  smell  of  cooking  in  the  cor- 
ridors, melting  snows,  and  mountains.  It  is  near 
flitting  and  settling  day  with  you  there,  and  as 
y«ur  custom  is,  you  are  owing  a  many  letters — 
to  me  among  others,  epistles  one,  two  and  three. 
For  days  you  have  passed  your  desk  with  a  kind 
of  pride  and  wicked  pleasure  in  stubbornly  defy- 
ing your  conscience. 

But  one  morning  in  the  gloaming,  Conscience 
has  you  down  before  you  were  fairly  awake,  and 
right  grimly  takes  certain  long  arrears  out  of  you. 
Then,  according  to  your  own  account,  your  cries 
of  penitence  might  have  been  heard  a  mile.  In 
this  abased  condition,  the  Black  Dog  riding  hard 
on  your  back,  you  made  yourself  responsible  for 
words  to  the  ensuing  effect :  "  Write,"  you  said, 
«*  my  Timothy,  no  longer  verse,  but  use  Good  Gal- 
loway Scots  for  your  stomach's  sake — and  mine. 
There  be  overly  many  at  the  old.  tooth-comb ! " 


TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION.  9 

Well,  'tis  scarce  fair  to  hold  you  to  it,  I  know ; 
but  your  will  thus  fleeing  in  a  mere  sauve  qui 
pent — conscience  hot-foot  after  you,  hectoring 
with  victory — "If  you  do.  Til  read  it  every 
word!"  says  you.  And  so  I  had  you. 

Often  when  in  my  turn  the  Black  Dog  hath 
been  upon  me,  and  I  seemed  to  see  plainly  that 
no  Adam's  son  would  ever  read  a  single  line,  least 
of  all  a  reviewer — have  I  rubbed  hands  and 
laughed  to  think  of  you  in  that  spotless  linen  suit, 
sitting,  as  you  imagined,  safe  and  cool  under 
whatever  may  be  the  Samoaii  substitute  for  a 
rose. 

But  I  hold  to  my  pound  of  flesh.  Will  you,  nil 
you,  you  must  read — and  every  word. 

Nevertheless,  if  you  find  anything  here,  even  a 
thousand  sea  miles  from  good,  it  is  so  because 
ever  since  Saranac  I  have  been  like  Macready  hi 
Edinburgh  when  the  Great  Unknown  came  in, 
"  playing  to  Sir  Walter." 

S.  R.  CEOCKBTT. 

PENICUIK,  MIDLOTHIAN,  April  27, 1893. 


THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 


THE   RENUNCIATION   OF   ROBERT   FRA8ER,  FORMERLY 
STUDENT  IN  DIVINITY. 


THE  crows  were  wheeling  behind  the  plow  in 
scattering  clusters,  and  plumping  singly  upon 
the  soft,  thick  grubs  which  the  plowshare  was 
turning  out  upon  an  unkindly  world.  It  was  a 
bask  blowy  day  in  the  end  of  March,  and  there 
was  a  hint  of  storm  in  the  air — a  hint  empha- 
sized for  those  skilled  in  weather  lore  by  the 
presence  of  half  a  dozen  sea-gulls,  white  vagrants 
among  the  black  coats,  blown  by  the  south  wind 
up  from  the  Solway — a  snell,  Scotch,  but  not  un- 
friendly day  altogether.  Robert  Fraser  bent  to 
the  plow-handles,  and  cast  a  keen  and  wary  eye 
toward  his  guide-posts  on  the  ridge.  His  face 
was  colorless,  even  when  a  dash  of  rain  came 
swirling  across  from  the  crest  of  Ben  Gairn, 
whose  steep  bulk  heaved  itself  a  blue  haystack 
above  the  level  horizon  of  the  moorland.  He  was 

11 


12  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

dressed  like  any  other  plowman  of  the  south  up- 
lands— rou^h  homespun  much  the  worse  for  wear, 
and  leggings  the  color  of  the  red  soil  which  he 
was  reversing  with  the  share  of  his  plow.  Yet 
there  was  that  about  Robert  Fraser  which  marked 
him  no  common  man.  When  he  paused  at  the 
top  of  the  ascent,  and  stood  with  his  back  against 
the  horns  of  the  plow,  the  country  man's  legacy 
from  Adam  of  the  Mattock,  he  pushed  back  his 
weather-beaten  straw  hat  with  a  characteristic 
gesture,  and  showed  a  white  forehead  with  blue 
veins  channeling  it — a  damp,  heavy  lock  of  black 
hair  clinging  to  it  as  in  Severn's  picture  of  John 
Keats  on  his  death-bed.  Robert  Fraser  saw  a 
couple  of  black  specks  which  moved  smoothly 
and  evenly  along  the  top  of  the  distant  dike  of 
the  highway.  He  stood  still  for  a  moment  or 
two  watching  them.  As  they  came  nearer,  they 
resolved  themselves  into  a  smart  young  man  sit- 
ting in  a  well-equipped  gig  drawn  by  a  showily 
actioned  horse,  and  driven  by  a  man  in  livery. 
As  they  passed  rapidly  along  the  road,  the  hand 
of  the  young  man  appeared  in  a  careless  wave  of 
recognition  over  the  stone  dike,  and  Robert  Fraser 
lifted  his  slack  reins  in  staid  acknowledgment. 
It  was  more  than  a  year  since  the  brothers  had 
looked  each  other  so  nearly  in  the  eyes.  They 
•were  Dr.  Henry  Fraser,  the  rising  physician  of 
Cairn  Edward,  and  his  elder  brother  Robert, 


THE  STICKIT  MINISTER.  13 

once  Student  of  Divinity  at  Edinburgh  College, 
whom  three  parishes  knew  as  "  The  Stickit 
Minister." 

When  Robert  Eraser  stabled  his  horses  that 
night  and  went  in  to  his  supper,  he  was  not  sur- 
prised to  find  his  friend,  Saunders  M'Quhirr  of 
Drumquhat,  sitting  by  the  peat  fire  in  the 
«'  room."  Almost  the  only  thing  which  distin- 
guished the  Stickit  Minister  from  the  other  small 
farmers  of  the  parish  of  Dullarg  was  the  fact  that 
he  always  sat  in  the  evening  by  himself  ben  the 
hoose,  and  did  not  use  the  kitchen  in  common 
with  his  housekeeper  and  herd-boy  save  only  at 
meal-times.  Robert  had  taken  to  Saunders  ever 
since — the  back  of  his  ambition  broken — he  had 
settled  down  to  the  farm,  and  he  welcomed  him 
with  shy  cordiality. 

«  You'll  take  a  cup  of  tea,  Saunders  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Thank  ye,  Robert,  I  wadna  be  waur  o't,"  re- 
turned his  friend. 

"  I  saw  your  brither  the  day,"  said  Saunders 
M'Quhirr,  after  the  tea-cups  had  been  cleared 
away,  and  the  silent  housekeeper  had  replaced 
the  books  upon  the  table.  Saunders  picked  a 
couple  of  them  up,  and,  having  adjusted  his 
glasses,  he  read  the  titles — "  Milton's  Works,"  and 
a  volume  of  translation  of  "  Dorner's  Person  of 
Christ." 


14  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

"  I  saw  yer  brither  the  day ;  he  maun  be  git- 
tin'  a  big  practice ! " 

"  Ay ! "  said  Robert  Fraser,  very  thought- 
fully. 

Saunders  M'Quhirr  glanced  up  quickly.  It  was, 
of  course,  natural  that  the  unsuccessful  elder 
brother  should  envy  the  prosperous  younger,  but 
he  had  thought  that  Robert  Fraser  was  living  on 
a  different  plane.  It  was  one  of  the  few  things  that 
the  friends  had  never  spoken  of,  though  every 
one  knew  why  Dr.  Fraser  did  not  visit  his 
brother's  little  farm.  "  He's  gettin'  in  wi'  the  big 
fowk  noo,  an'  thinks  maybe  that  his  brither  wad 
do  him  nae  credit."  That  was  the  way  the  clash 
of  the  country-side  explained  the  matter. 

"I  never  told  you  how  I  came  to  leave  the 
college,  Saunders,"  said  the  younger  man,  rest- 
ing his  brow  on  a  hand  that  even  the  horn  of  the 
plow  could  not  make  other  than  diaphanous. 

"No,"  said  Saunders,  quietly,  with  a  tender 
gleam  coming  into  the  humorsome,  kindly  eyes 
that  lurked  under  their  bushy  tussocks  of  gray 
eyebrow.  Saunders'  humor  lay  near  the  Fountain 
of  Tears. 

"  No,"  continued  Robert  Fraser,  "  I  have  not 
spoken  of  it  to  so  many ;  but  you've  been  a  good 
frien'  to  me,  Saunders,  and  I  think  you  should 
hear  it.  I  have  not  tried  to  set  myself  right  with 
folks  in  the  general,  but  I  would  like  to  let  you 


THE   STICK1T  MINISTER.  15 

see  clearly  before  I  go  my  ways  to  Him  who 
seeth  from  the  beginning." 

"Hear  till  him,"  said  Saunders;  "man,  yer 
hoast  [cough]  is  no'  near  as  sair  as  it  was  i'  the 
back-end.  Ye'll  be  here  lang  efter  me ;  but  lang 
or  short,  weel  do  ye  ken,  Robert  Fraser,  that  ye 
need  not  to  pit  yersel'  richt  wi'  me.  Hev  I  no' 
kenned  ye  sins  ye  war  the  size  o'  twa  scrubbers  ?  " 

"  I  thank  you,  Saunders,"  said  Robert,  "  but  I 
am  well  aware  that  I'm  to  die  this  year.  No,  no, 
not  a  word.  It  is  the  Lord's  will !  It's  more  than 
seven  year  now  since  I  first  kenned  that  my  days 
were  to  be  few.  It  was  the  year  my  faither  died, 
and  left  Harry  and  me  by  our  lane. 

"  He  left  no  sillar  to  speak  of,  just  plenty  to 
lay  him  decently  in  the  kirk-yard  among  his  fore- 
bears. I  had  been  a  year  at  the  Divinity  Hall 
then,  and  was  going  up  to  put  in  my  discourses 
for  the  next  session.  I  had  been  troubled  with 
my  breast  for  some  time,  and  so  called  one  day  at 
the  infirmary  to  get  a  word  with  Sir  James.  He 
was  very  busy  when  I  went  in,  and  never  noticed 
me  till  the  hoast  took  me.  Then  on  a  sudden  he 
looked  up  from  his  papers,  came  quickly  over  to 
me,  put  his  own  white  handkerchief  to  my  mouth, 
and  quietly  said,  '  Come  into  my  room,  laddie ! ' 
Ay,  he  was  a  good  man  and  a  faithful,  Sir  James, 
if  ever  there  was  one.  He  told  me  that  with  care 
I  might  live  five  or  six  years,  but  it  would  need 


16  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

great  care.  Then  a  strange  prickly  coldness 
came  over  me,  and  I  seemed  to  walk  light-headed 
in  an  atmosphere  suddenly  rarified.  I  think  I 
know  now  how  the  mouse  feels  under  the  air- 
pump." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  queried  Saunders. 

"A  cruel  ploy  not  worth  speaking  of,"  con- 
tinued the  Stickit  Minister.  "  Well,  I  found 
something  in  my  throat  when  I  tried  to  thank  him. 
But  I  came  my  ways  home  to  the  Dullarg,  and 
night  and  day  I  considered  what  was  to  be  done, 
with  so  much  to  do  and  so  little  time  to  do  it.  It 
was  clear  that  both  Harry  and  me  could  not  go 
through  the  college  on  the  little  my  faither  had 
left.  So  late  one  night  I  saw  my  way  clear  to 
what  I  should  do.  Harry  must  go,  I  must  stay. 
I  must  come  home  to  the  farm,  and  be  my  own 
*  man ; '  then  I  could  send  Harry  to  the  college  to 
be  a  doctor,  for  he  had  no  call  to  the  ministry, 
as  once  I  thought  I  had.  More  than  that,  it  was 
laid  on  me  to  tell  Jessie  Loudon  that  Robert 
Fraser  was  no  better  than  a  machine  set  to  go 
five  years. 

"Now  all  these  things  I  did,  Saunders,  but 
there's  no  use  telling  you  what  they  cost  in  the 
doing.  They  were  right  to  do,  and  they  were 
done.  I  do  not  repent  any  of  them.  I  would  do 
them  all  over  again  were  they  to  do,  but  it's  been 
bitterer  than  I  thought." 


THE  STICKIT   MINISTER.  17 

The  Stickit  Minister  took  his  head  off  his  hand 
and  leaned  wearily  back  in  his  chair. 

"  The  story  went  over  the  country  that  I  had 
failed  in  my  examinations,  and  I  never  said  that 
I  had  not.  But  there  were  some  that  knew  better 
who  might  have  contradicted  the  report  if  they 
had  liked.  I  settled  down  to  the  farm,  and  I  put 
Harry  through  the  college,  sending  all  but  a  bare 
living  to  him  in  Edinburgh.  I  worked  the  work 
of  the  farm,  rain  and  shine,  ever  since,  and  have 
been  for  these  six  years  the  '  Stickit  Minister ' 
that  all  the  world  kens  the  day.  Whiles  Harry 
did  not  think  that  he  got  enough.  He  was  always 
writing  for  more,  and  not  so  very  pleased  when 
he  did  not  get  it.  He  was  aye  different  to  me,  ye 
ken,  Saunders,  and  he  canna  be  judged  by  the 
same  standard  as  you  and  me." 

"  I  ken,"  said  Saunders  M'Quhirr,  a  spark  of 
light  lying  in  the  quiet  of  his  eyes. 

"  Well,"  continued  Robert  Fraser,  lightened  by 
Saunders'  apparent  agreement,  "the  time  came 
when  he  was  clear  from  college,  and  wanted  a 
practice.  He  had  been  ill-advised  that  he  had  not 
got  his  share  of  the  farm,  and  he  wanted  itselled 
to  share  and  share  alike.  Now  I  kenned,  and  you 
ken,  Saunders,  that  it's  no'  worth  much  in  one 
share,  let  alone  two.  So  I  got  the  place  quietly 
bonded,  and  bought  him  old  Doctor  Aitkin'a 
practice  in  Cairn  Edward  with  the  money. 
2 


18  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

"  I  have  tried  to  do  my  best  for  the  lad,  for  it 
was  laid  on  me  to  be  my  brother's  keeper.  He 
doesna  come  here  much,"  continued  Robert,  "  but 
I  think  he's  not  so  ill  against  me  as  he  was. 
Saunders,  he  waved  his  hand  to  me  when  he  was 
gaun  by  the  day ! " 

"That  was  kind  of  him,"  said  Saunders 
M'Quhirr. 

"Ay,  was  it  no',"  said  the  Stickit  Minister, 
eagerly,  with  a  soft  look  in  his  eyes  as  he  glanced 
up  at  his  brother's  portrait  in  cap  and  gown, 
which  hung  over  the  china  dogs  on  the  mantel- 
piece. 

"  I  got  my  notice  this  morning  that  the  bond  is 
to  be  called  up  in  November,"  said  Robert.  "  So 
I'll  be  obliged  to  flit." 

Saunders  M'Quhirr  started  to  his  feet  in  a 
moment.  "Never,"  he  said,  with  the  spark  of 
fire  alive  now  in  his  eyes, "  never  as  lang  as  there's 
a  beast  on  Drumquhat,  or  a  poun'  in  Cairn 
Edward  Bank,"  bringing  down  his  clinched  fist 
upon  the  Milton  on  the  table. 

"  No,  Saunders,  no,"  said  the  Stickit  Minister, 
very  gently;  "I  thank  you  kindly,  but  TUbt 
flitted  before  that  /" 


ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS.       19 


ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS. 

IT  was  a  bright  June  day  when  the  Reverend 
Hugh  Hamilton  was  placed  in  the  little  kirk  of 
the  Cowdenknowes.  He  was  twenty-two  years  of 
age,  and  he  had  flushed  like  a  girl  of  sixteen  when 
he  preached  as  a  candidate  before  the  congrega- 
tion. But  he  did  not  blush  when  he  was  or- 
dained by  the  laying  on  of  the  hands  of  the  pres- 
bytery. There  was  a  look  of  the  other  world  on  his 
face  as  he  knelt  in  sight  of  all-  the  people  to 
receive  on  his  yellow  hair  the  hands  of  the 
assembled  brethren.  Hugh  Hamilton  had  been 
devoted  to  temple  service,  like  Samuel,  from  his 
birth ;  yet  there  had  never  been  anything  of  the 
"  pious  boy  "  about  him  even  as  a  lad.  He  could 
always  climb  a  tree  or  run  a  race  to  the  top  of 
the  Bow  Fell  with  any  one.  He  was  therefore 
never  lightly  treated  by  his  companions,  but  as 
he  had  not  been  known  to  tell  a  lie  even  when 
circumstances  made  it  extremely  convenient,  nor 
even  so  much  as  steal  a  turnip — a  plant  in  which 
there  are  no  rights  of  property  in  Scotland — his 
companions  had  long  ago  decided  that  there  must 
be  a  lack  of  sound  morality  somewhere  about  him. 


20  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

He  was  a  popular  sort  of  boy,  but  was  not  con- 
sidered to  have  very  good  principles. 

At  college  he  spent  most  of  his  time  in  helping 
the  laggards  of  his  companions  over  the  numer- 
ous examination  fences  that  barred  their  way — 
mere  skipping-ropes  to  him,  but  very  five-barred 
gates  to  the  Rodericks  and  Dugalds  who  had  come 
down  from  the  hills  with  the  grace  of  God  in  their 
hearts,  a  bag  of  oatmeal  coarse  ground  for  brose 
in  their  wooden  boxes,  and  twelve  pounds  in 
single  notes  inside  their  waistcoats  to  see  them 
through  the  session. 

One  of  these  came  all  the  way  to  Hugh's  ordi- 
nation. He  was  now  the  Reverend  Roderick 
M'Leod  of  the  parish  of  Kilmuir  in  the  Lews,  and 
he  made  the  speech  of  the  evening.  It  ran,  or 
rather  hirpled,  somewhat  as  follows  : 

"  I  hef  arose  to  speak,  no'  that  I  am  that  goot  at 
the  speakin',  but  I  cannot  gang  away  back  to  the 
Hielan's  an'  keep  silence  on  this  occasion.  For  if 
it  had  no'  been  for  your  minister  and  the  kind- 
ness of  Providence,  it's  no'  here  that  I  would  hef 
been,  nor  yet  at  my  awn  manse  in  the  Lews ;  but 
it's  sittin'  I  would  hef  been  on  a  stone  dike  in  the 
Ross  of  Mull,  keepin'  the  craws  aff  three  rigs  of 
pitawties.  If  I  could  speak  to  you  in  the  Gaelic, 
I  would  tell  you  the  feelin's  that's  in  my  heart 
for  your  minister,  but  the  English  is  no'  a  Ian- 
gwage  that  is  good  for  expressin'  the  feelin's  in. 


ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS.  21 

I  hef  no  wife  at  awl,  but  if  I  had  ten  wives  I 
wouldna  think  ass  muckle  o'  them  ass  I  do  of 
your  minister  for  his  kindness  to  a  puir  lad  from 
Mull." 

It  was  thought  to  be  a  very  happy  settlement, 
and  Hugh  Hamilton  felt  it  to  be  a  consecration. 
Had  he  been  called  to  minister  to  a  congregation 
of  the  angels  in  some  rural  parish  of  heaven,  he 
could  not  have  held  higher  opinions  of  his  parish- 
ioners. He  might  have  had  a  fair  chance  in  the 
garden  of  Eden  to  the  general  advantage  of  the 
race,  but  he  was  sorely  handicapped  in  the  Cow- 
denknowes.  He  was  aware  that  all  men  did  not 
act  aright  on  every  occasion ;  but  Hugh  consid- 
ered this  to  be  not  so  much  their  own  fault,  as  a 
proof  of  the  constant  agency  of  that  power  which 
worketh  for  evil,  of  which  he  was  almost  mor- 
bidly conscious  in  his  own  soul. 

His  first  sermon  was  a  wonder.  As  the  theo- 
logical postman  said,  "He  was  ayont  the  cluds 
afore  we  could  get  oor  books  shut,  oot  o'  sicht  gin 
we  gat  oorsel's  settled  in  oor  seats,  an'  we  saw 
nae  mair  o'  him  till  he  said, '  Amen.'  "  But  Hugh 
Hamilton  knew  nothing  of  this.  He  had  been  in 
high  communion  with  the  unseen,  and  he  doubted 
not  that  each  one  of  his  hearers  had  accompanied 
him  all  the  way  and  seen  the  sights  of  the  seventh 
heaven  as  he  had  seen  them  that  day. 

As  he  walked  down  the  street  on  the  following 


22  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

day  he  swung  along  to  an  unheard  melody — the 
music  of  the  other  world  playing  in  his  ear.  But 
he  did  not  know  enough  of  this  world  to  catch 
the  eye  of  the  wife  of  the  richest  merchant,  in 
the  place  when  she  had  got  all  ready  to  bow  to 
him. 

"  An'  him  had  his  tea  in  my  verra  hoose  on 
Wednesday  three  weeks,  nae  farther  gane,  the 
prood  upstart ! "  said  she. 

Hugh  Hamilton  went  on  to  the  death-bed  of  a 
child,  all  unconscious  that  he  had  made  an  enemy 
for  life.  But  Mrs.  Penpont  went  home  in  a  white 
rage,  and  told  her  husband  the  story  with  frills 
and  furbelows  of  adornment — how  the  new  min- 
ister had  "  slichtit  her,  the  bailie's  wife,  that  had 
taen  twa  seats  in  his  kirk  juist  for  obleegement — 
her  that  was  a  laird's  dochter — " 

"  I  wadna  work  the  auld  man's  kail-yard  ower 
sair !  "  said  her  husband. 

"  An'  you're  but  little  better,  Andra  Penpont, 
jibin'  an'  jeerin'  at  yer  ain  marriet  wife,  you  that 
wad  hae  been  nocht  ava  but  for  what  ye  got  wi' 
me!" 

"  'Deed,  Jess,  I  wad  let  that  flea  stick  to  the 
wa'  gin  I  war  you.  A'  that  I  ever  gat  wi'  you 
has  been  paid  for  twa  or  three  times  ower  !  " 

But  Mrs.  Andrew  did  not  stand  fire,  for  her 
husband  knew  how  to  keep  a  tight  grip  of  these 
two  vast  forces  in  affairs  domestic — the  purse  and 


ACCEPTED   OF   THE   BEASTS.  23 

the  temper.  Great  power  is  given  to  him  who 
knoweth  how  to  keep  these  two. 

Hugh  Hamilton  was  not  a  great  success  in  the 
pulpit.  "  He's  far  ower  the  heids  o'  the  fowk," 
was  the  complaint  laid  against  him  where  the 
wiseacres  most  did  congregate.  "Withoot  doot 
he  has  graun'  heid-knowledge,  but  it's  no'  to  be 
lookit  for  that  a  laddie  like  him  should  hae  the 
leevin'  experience  o'  religion." 

But  he  had  a  mysterious  fascination  for  children 
of  all  ages.  They  recognized  that  in  somewise  he 
was  kin  to  them.  The  younger  they  were,  the 
stronger  seemed  the  attraction  which  drew  them 
to  the  minister.  He  seemed  to  be  a  citizen  of  that 
country  forth  from  which  they  had  lately  voyaged. 
There  were  a  dozen  of  them  ever  about  his  knees, 
listening  rapt  while  he  told  them  the  simple  stories 
which  pleased  them  best,  or  as  he  sung  to  them 
in  a  voice  like  a  heavenly  flute  or  a  lonely  bird 
singing  in  the  first  of  spring. 

"  I  like  na  siccan  wark,"  said  some ;  "  how  is 
he  to  fricht  them  when  he  comes  to  catechise 
them  if  he  makes  so  free  wi'  them  the  noo,  that's 
what  I  wad  like  to  ken?"  "Na,  an'  anither 
thing,  he's  aye  sing,  singin'  at  his  hymns.  Noo, 
there  may  be  twa-three  guid  hymns,  though  I 
hae  my  doots — but  among  a'  that  he  sings,  it 
stan's  to  reason  that  there  maun  be  a  hantle  tf 
balderdash  1  " 


24  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

Meantime,  Hugh  Hamilton  went  about  as  he 
did  ever,  with  his  head  in  the  air,  unconscious 
that  he  had  an  evil-wisher  in  the  world,  smiling 
with  boyish  frankness  on  all  with  his  short- 
sighted blue  eyes.  There  was  not  a  lass  in  the 
parish  but  looked  kindly  upon  him,  for  Hugh's 
eyes  had  the  dangerous  gift  of  personal  speech,  so 
that  the  slightest  word  from  him  seemed,  under 
the  radiance  of  his  glance,  to  be  weighty  with 
personal  meanings.  If  one  heart  beat  faster  as 
he  walked  down  the  long  green  Kirk  Loan  with 
May  Carruthers,  the  belle  of  the  parish,  that  heart 
was  not  Hugh  Hamilton's.  He  was  trysted  to  a 
fairer  bride,  and  like  Him  whom  he  took  to  be 
his  Master  in  all  things,  he  longed  to  lay  down 
his  life  for  the  people.  But  he  was  too  humble 
to  expect  that  his  God  would  so  honor  him. 

He  awakened  memories  of  that  young  James 
Renwick  who  died  in  Edinburgh  Grass-Market, 
last  of  them  who  counted  not  their  lives  dear  for 
the  sake  of  the  Scottish  Covenant ;  but  he  had 
something  too  of  the  over-sweetness  which  marks 
certain  of  Rutherford's  letters.  His  was  a  life 
foredoomed  to  bitter  experience,  and  to  the  out- 
sider his  actual  experience  seemed  of  the  grim- 
mest and  bitterest,  yet  he  never  thought  himself 
worth  even  self-pity,  that  most  enervating  draught 
which  any  man  can  drink.  Like  the  Israelitish 
city,  he  was  ringed  round  with  unseen  celestial 


ACCEPTED   OF   THE   BEASTS.  25 

defenses  and  passed  unscathed  through  the  most 
terrible  experiences. 

So  two  years  went  over  the  young  man's  head, 
and  to  the  few  who  best  understood  him  he  seemed 
like  an  angel  entertained  unawares.  But  in  the 
secret  darks  of  the  stairs,  in  the  whispered  col- 
loquy of  the  parlors,  an  enemy  was  at  work ;  and 
murderous  whispers,  indefinite,  disquieting,  sug- 
gesting vague  possibilities  of  all  things  evil, 
brought  with  them  the  foul  reek  of  the  pit  where 
they  were  forged,  paralyzing  his  work  and  killing 
his  best  usefulness.  But  Hugh  Hamilton  wotted 
not  at  all  of  it.  "What  threats  came  to  him  by 
the  penny  post  or  were  slipped  into  his  letter-box 
on  dark  nights,  were  known  only  to  himself  and 
his  Maker.  Probably  he  held  them  to  be  only  what 
he  must  expect  from  the  Accuser  of  the  Brethren. 
At  least,  he  made  no  sound,  and  none  knew  if  he 
suffered.  Elders  dropped  away,  members  lifted 
their  lines  and  went  to  other  communions.  Only 
his  Sabbath  school  remained  unimpaired.  There 
his  marvelous  voice  shrilled  clearer  and  ever 
clearer,  even  after  there  remained  no  teacher  to 
assist  him,  as  though  he  had  led  his  little  flock  to 
the  very  gate  of  heaven,  and  were  now  pleading 
with  the  Guardian  of  the  Keys  to  let  the  children 
in  straightway  to  their  inheritance.  Children  of 
strict  and  orthodox  parents  were  removed,  but 
the  Sabbath  school  remained  full.  For  this  strange 


26  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

young  minister,  a  fairy  changeling  surely,  had 
but  to  go  out  into  the  highways  and  the  hedges 
to  compel  others  to  come  in. 

Then  in  a  little  there  came  the  clamant  and 
definite  bitterness  of  the  "  Fama  Clamosa  " — the 
moving  of  the  Presbytery  which  had  licensed  and 
ordained  him,  by  his  ruling  elder  and  one  other 
of  the  congregation.  In  the  reverend  court  itself 
there  was,  at  first,  only  bitterness  and  dissension. 
Hugh  Hamilton  met  his  accusers  openly,  but  there 
was  no  fiery  indignation  in  his  defense,  only  a 
certain  sad  disappointment.  He  had  received  his 
first  backset,  and  it  told  on  him  like  a  sentence 
of  death.  His  faith  in  man  died  in  a  day ;  there- 
fore he  clung  more  closely  to  his  faith  in  a  God 
who  looketh  not  on  the  outward  appearance,  but 
on  the  heart. 

He  could  not  conceive  how  it  was  possible  that 
any  should  for  a  moment  believe  those  things 
which  certain  witnessed  against  him.  He  had 
brought  no  witnesses.  He  would  employ  no 
lawyer.  If  the  Presbytery  thought  fit  in  the 
interests  of  the  religion  of  the  parish,  he 
would  demit  his  charge ;  if  they  judged  it 
right,  he  would  accept  deposition  without  a 
word. 

But  Hugh  Hamilton  was  not  to  be  deposed. 
Suspended  during  inquiry,  he  still  did  the  few 
duties  which  remained  to  him,  and  visited  wher- 


ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS.       27 

erer  there  was  a  door  open  for  him  to  enter. 
There  were  not  many.  This  was  for  him  "  that 
Mount  Sinai  in  Arabia  "  beneath  which  his  Script- 
ure told  him  the  Christ's  Man  must  awhile  so- 
journ. 

One  morning  the  farmer  of  Drumrash  went  out 
early  among  his  beasts,  and  was  surprised  to 
find  them  grouped  in  a  dense  swaying  mass  about 
an  empty  quarry,  horning  and  shouldering  one 
another  in  their  eagerness  to  approach.  Myste- 
rious sounds  arose  from  the  whin-bound  quarry 
hole,  disquieting  even  in  the  cool  dawn  of  the 
morning.  The  farmer  crept  to  a  gap  in  the  whin- 
bushes,  and  through  it  he  was  astonished  to  see 
the  suspended  minister  of  the  Cowdenknowes 
with  a  face  all  suffused  with  joy,  singing  words 
he  could  not  understand  to  a  tune  no  man  had 
ever  heard  before ;  while  about  him,  ever  nearer 
and  nearer,  the  "  nowt "  beasts  pressed,  tossing 
their  sullen  fronts,  silent  and  fascinated  by  the 
magic  of  the  singing.* 

Then  the  farmer  remembered  that  he  had 
heard  tell  that  the  minister  had  wandered  on  the 
hills  singing  and  praying  to  himself  ever  since 
they  shut  the  door  of  his  Sabbath  school  against 
him. 

Gradually  the  words  came  clearer — 

*"  Horse  Subsecivae."  By  Dr.  John  Brown.  Second 
eerles,  p.  362. 


28  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

"He was  despised  ....  despised  .... 

And  rejected  of  men, 
A  Man  of  Sorrows, 
And  acquainted  with  grief." 

So  the  melody  swayed  and  thrilled,  breaking 
for  a  moment  into  delicious,  heart-breaking 
silences,  anon  returning  with  thrilling  power,  like 
the  voice  of  a  martyr  praising  God  out  of  the 
place  of  fire.  Drumrash  felt  his  eyes  wet  with  un- 
accustomed tears.  He  had  never  heard  of  Handel, 
and  if  he  had,  he  need  not  have  been  less  affected, 
for  surely  never  was  the  great  music  sung  in  such 
wise  or  to  such  an  audience. 

"  He  was  despised  .  .  .  .  despised.  .  . 
And  rejected  of  men  .  .  .  ." 

The  lowering  foreheads  and  tossing  horns 
drooped  lower,  and  hung  over  the  singer  like  the 
surge  of  a  breaking  wave. 

"  A  man  of  Sorrows, 
And  acquainted  with  grief." 

The  song  rose,  beating  tremulously  against  the 
sky,  till  the  listener  felt  his  heart  brimming  to 
the  overflow ;  so,  abruptly  rising,  he  turned  and 
fled,  leaving  Hugh  Hamilton  alone  with  his  last 
congregation. 

Two  hours  afterward  a  shepherd  came  that 
way  by  chance  seeking  a  lost  lamb,  and  in  its 


ACCEPTED   OF  THE  BEASTS.  29 

place  he  found  the  minister  of  Cowdenknowes, 
fallen  still  and  silent,  his  face  turned  to  the  sky, 
and  the  dew  of  the  morning  yet  wet  upon  it. 
There  was  a  light  of  emancipation  on  his  brow, 
for  he  had  seen  the  Vision  which  every  man  shall 
one  day  see,  and  it  had  not  affrighted  him.  There 
was  even  a  kind  of  triumph  under  the  film  which 
had  begun  to  gather  over  the  eyes  of  translucent 
blue. 

They  buried  him  at  his  own  expense  in  the  de- 
serted kirkyard  at  Kirkclaugh,  a  mile  or  two 
along  the  windy  brow  of  the  sea  cliff,  looking  to 
the  sale  of  his  books  to  defray  the  cost.  There 
were  just  six  people  at  the  funeral,  and  one  of 
them  was  the  farmer  of  Drumrash.  But  the 
whole  country-side  stood  afar  off  to  see  what  the 
end  would  be.  Only  the  "nowt"  beasts  came 
gazing  and  wondering  into  the  unfenced  and 
deserted  burying-ground  as  though  they  at  least 
would  have  mourned  for  him  who  had  drawn 
them  about  him  when  other  congregation  he  had 
none. 


Hardly  a  week  after  the  minister  was  laid  to 
rest,  the  dead  body  of  the  Strange  Woman,  whose 
accusation  had  wrought  the  ill — one  of  small 
repute  but  infinite  power  of  mischief — was  found, 
wave-driven,  at  the  foot  of  the  Kirkclaugh  Heuchs. 


30  THE   STICKIT  MINISTEB. 

On  the  cliff  above  there  lay  a  hat  and  veil,  the 
latter  neatly  folded,  and  on  it  a  note  pinned  : 

"I  can  live  no  longer.  I  betrayed  innocent 
blood.  As  Judas  betrayed  his  Master,  so  I  sold 
him — yet  got  neither  money  nor  kiss.  Now  I 
also  go  to  my  own  place." 

The  minister's  books  fetched  enough  to  put  up 
a  little  tombstone  of  red  sandstone  simply  graven 
with  his  name  and  age.  But  the  farmer  of 
Drumrash  thought  it  looked  bare  and  unkindly, 
so  taking  counsel  of  no  man,  he  laid  his  wait  one 
day  for  Bourtree,  the  drunken  stone-cutter.  Him 
he  stood  over  with  the  horsewhip  of  coercion  till 
he  had  done  his  will.  So  now,  in  staggering  cap- 
itals,  you  may  read  the  words — 

HUGH  HAMILTON. 

AGED  24  TEAKS. 
"  He  was  despised  ....  and  rejected  of  men." 

And  still  Hugh  Hamilton's  last  congregation  toss 
their  sullen  f  rentals,  and  nose  with  the  moist  and 
stupid  affection  of  "  bestial "  the  crumbling  stone 
which,  on  that  wind-vexed  and  unkindly  promon- 
tory, tells  the  infrequent  wayfarer  of  yet  another 
"  Rejected  of  Men." 


TRIALS  FOE  LICENSE.  31 


TRIALS  FOR  LICENSE  BY  THE  PRESBY- 
TERY OF  PITSOOTTIE. 

WHEN  I  cam'  hame  from  my  first  presbytery 
at  Pitscottie,  the  wife  was  awfu'  keen  to  ken  a' 
that  had  passed,  for  she  said,  "  If  it's  sae  graun' 
to  listen  to  yae  minister  on  Sabbath,  what  maun 
it  no'  be  to  hear  a  dizzen  a'  at  yince  ?  "  But  there 
was  juist  where  my  wife  was  mista'en  that  time 
whatever,  for  as  a  matter  o'  experience,  it's'  a 
moral  impossibeelity  to  hear  ony  yin  o'  twal 
ministers  when  they  are  a'  speakin'  at  yae  time. 

But  I  said  to  Mrs.  MaWhurr,  "Do  you  no' 
think  that  ye  had  better  wait  till  the  forenicht, 
an'  then  ye  can  hear  a'  aboot  it,  no  in  snips  an' 
clippets  ?  Rob  Adair  will  likely  be  ower  frae  the 
toon,  for  he  was  gaun  to  come  this  way  to  gie  a 
look  at  some  score  or  twa  o'  Kirkconnel's  yowes." 

So  in  the  afternoon  she  pat  on  a  bit  fire  in  the 
parlor  ben  the  hoose,  which  she  disna  do  unless 
we're  gaun  to  hae  company,  and  by  the  time  that 
Rob  Adair  cam'  she  was  in  graun'  fettle  to  listen. 
For  ye  see  this  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  ever 
been  presbytery  elder,  an'  oor  minister  was  fell 
anxious  for  me  to  gang  doon  to  Pitscottie,  for 


82  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

there  was  a  lad  that  he  kenned  comin'  a'  the  road 
frae  Enbra'  for  leecense  to  preach  the  Gospel,  an' 
the  minister  thocht  that  some  o'  the  auld  yins  o' 
the  presbytery  micht  be  ower  sair  on  the  young 
man. 

Rob  Adair  cam'  in  baith  wat  an'  dry,  an'  to 
help  baith,  got  a  change  o'  claes  an'  his  tea  oot  o' 
oor  best  cheena.  Then  when  the  pipes  were  gaun 
weel,  they  baith  looked  ower  at  me.  Brawly 
kenned  I  that  they  were  hotchin'  for  me  to  gie 
them  the  presbytery  ;  but  I  gaed  on  askin'  Rob 
aboot  the  price  o'  beasts,  an'  hoo  mony  lambs  had 
been  selled  on  the  hill  that  day,  till  my  wife  could 
stand  it  no  longer. 

"  Saunders  MaWhurr,"  says  she,  "  if  there's  a 
war  tried  woman  than  me  or  a  mair  aggravatin' 
man  than  you  hi  sax  parishes,  I  dinna  ken 
them." 

So  I  began. 

"  Weel,  as  ye  ken,  I  was  no'  that  carin'  aboot 
gaun  to  the  presbytery  at  the  first  go-off,  but  oor 
minister  wadna  be  said  '  No '  to." 

"  An'  you're  no'  the  man  to  say  it  gin  he  war," 
said  the  mistress. 

"  She  means  that  me  an'  the  minister  'grees 
fine,"  said  I  to  Rob,  "  though  he  wasna  my  man 
when  he  cam'  on  accoont  o'  his  giein'  oot  a  Para- 
phrase. This  was  my  opeenion  at  that  time ;  he 
haes  a  harmonium  noo  i'  the  kirk,  an'  Alexander 


TRIALS  FOR   LICENSE.  33 

M'Quhirr,  Drumquhat,  was  the  first  name  on  the 
list  o'  subscribers.  Change  ?— I  wadna  gie  a 
whustle  for  a  man  that  canna  change  when  he 
fin's  he's  wrang ;  so  it's  no  wonder  oor  minister 
an'  me's  verra  pack.  He  has  taen  me  a  lang  gate 
sins  him  an'  me  fall  aquant.  I  used  to  think 
Jeems  Carlyle  the  only  yin  o'  the  Carlyles  that 
had  come  to  ony  guid  (an'  'deed  there  were  few 
better  sheep  in  Dumfries  market  on  Wednesday 
than  Jeems  Carlyle's) ;  but  oor  minister,  wi'  the 
help  o'  the  Almichty  an'  some  buiks  o'  Tammas 
Carlyle,  thrawn  stick  as  he  was,  hae  garred 
anither  thrawn  stick  o'  a  farmer  body  lift  his  een 
abune  the  nowt  an'  the  shairn." 

"  Skip  the  minister,  an'  the  haivers  the  twa  o' 
ye  talk  aboot  auld  Tarn — drive  on  wi'  yer  presby- 
tery ! "  said  my  wife.  In  the  generality,  ye  ken, 
I'm  ower  slow  for  the  wife ;  she  kind  o'  likes  a' 
things  to  gang  forrit  gye-an'  sherp,  an'  wad  gar 
a'  the  hens  hae  their  layin'  dune  i'  the  mornin'  an' 
their  nests  made  afore  they  gaed  oot  to  pick  a 
single  corn. 

Yince  I  offended  her  sair  when  the  factor  was 
here  to  his  tea.  "  Hae  a  bit  o'  this  skim  milk 
cheese,  factor,"  says  I,  "  it's  my  wife's  ain  mak- 
kin',  an'  1'se  warrant  there's  neyther  dirt  nor 
butter  in't!" 

"  Weel,  the  presbytery  be't,"  says  I,  for  I  saw 
that  my  wife's  natience,  never  verra  lang  at  the 


34  tHE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

best,  was  comin'  near  an  end.  I  ken  the  length 
o't  to  a  hair,  as  by  this  time  I  hae  a  good  richt  to 
do.  "  Weel,  the  coort  met  an'  was  constitutit." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Rob  Adair. 

"  Fegs,  I  do  not  ken ;  ye'll  hae  to  ask  the  clerk, 
it  was  him  that  said  it,"  says  I,  "  an'  then  there 
was  reports,  an'  strings  o'  feegures  like  laddies' 
coonts  (sums) ;  but  naebody  payed  muckle  atten- 
tion, but  talkit  to  their  neighbors  till  the  clerk 
caaed  '  Order ! '  Then  they  were  quaite  for  half 
a  meenit,  an'  syne  at  it  again.  'Deed  the  clerk 
talkit  too  when  he  didna  mind." 

"  Deer  sirce,  an'  that's  a  presbytery.  I  thocht 
it  was  like  a  week  o'  sacraments  I "  said  my  wife. 

"  Verra  far  frae  that,"  says  I,  "  for  o'  a'  the 
craiturs  to  fecht,  doos  an'  ministers  are  the  maist 
quarrelsome." 

"  Did  oor  minister  fecht  ?  "  asked  the  mistress, 
verra  pointed. 

"  Na ;  he  was  raither  a  peacemaker,  so  to  speak," 
says  I,  cautious  like ;  "  of  coorse  a  man  haes  whiles 
to  speak  his  mind." 

"Ow!  he's  the  wee  white  hen  that  never 
lays  away,  oor  minister,  I  ken,"  says  she,  dried 
like. 

"  Ye  never  war  the  bird  to  fyle  yer  ain  kirk 
riggin,"  said  Rob.  Whiles  I'm  feared  that  auld 
Rob  is  gettin'  a  wee  doited. 

"  Yer  keepin'  me  frae  the  presbytery  wi'  yer 


TRIALS   FOB   LICENSE.  35 

haivers,"  says  I,  an'  that  made  them  as  quaite  as 
pussy.  "  Weel,  in  a  wee  it  came  on  to  the  leecen- 
sin',  an'  the  laddie  f  rae  Enbra'  was  bidden  to  step 
in  alang  wi'  twa  ither  lads  frae  the  neeborhood 
that  had  compleetit  their  studies  at  the  college. 
The  Enbra'  laddie  had  been  an  unco  graun'  scholar 
— had  gotten  the  Knox  Fellowship,  I  think  they 
caaed  it,  an'  was  noo  gaun  oot  to  be  a  missionar' 
to  the  haythen.  So  afore  they  could  let  him 
gang,  they  bood  examine  him  on  the  Hebrew  an' 
Laitin,  an'  ither  langwiges  that  naebody  speaks 
noo.  I  wasna  lang  in  seem'  that  the  lad  kenned 
mair  than  maybes  a'  the  presbytery  pitten  the- 
gither.  ('  Surely  no'  than  yer  ain  minister ! '  pat 
in  my  wife.)  An'  for  the  life  o'  me  I  couldna  see 
what  they  could  fin'  faut  wi'.  The  ither  twa  were 
nice  lads  aneuch,  an'  they  hummered  an'  ha'ed 
through  some  gate,  but  the  Enbra'  lad  never  made 
a  stammer,  an'  had  his  answers  oot  afore  they 
could  read  their  questions  off  the  paper." 

"  But  I  thocht  that  they  war  a'  sair  again  the 
paper,"  said  my  wife. 

"  Weel,  sae  they  maistly  are,  but  some  o'  them 
are  maybes  a  wee  mair  comfortable  wi'  a  bit  note 
when  it  comes  to  the  Greek  an'  the  Laitin. 

"  At  ony  rate,  it  wasna  till  they  cam'  to  the  dis- 
coorses  that  there  was  ony  o'  the  kin'  o'  din  that 
oor  minister  was  sae  feared  o'.  The  laddie  was 
askit  to  read  yin  o'  his  discoorses — I  kenna  what 


16  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

it  was  aboct,  something  onywye  that  he  had 
wraitten  in  the  Laitin,  but  was  askit  to  read  in 
the  English  as  bein'  mair  convenienter  for  the 
presbytery. 

"Pie  wasna  half-wey  through  when  up  gets 
maister  Begbie  f  rae  Soorkirk,  michty  dour-lookin', 
an'  he  says,  '  I'll  no'  sit  in  this  presbytery  an' 
listen  to  ony  siccan  doctrine,  frae  a  Knox  Fella* 
or  ony  ither  fella' ! '  says  he. 

"  An'  wi'  that  Maister  Pitbye  o'  the  Dullarg 
gat  himsel'  on  his  legs ;  *  I  canna  help  thinkin',' 
says  he,  'that  we  wad  not  hev  been  asked  to 
license  the  young  man  noo  afore  us  if  he  had 
been  considered  soun'  in  the  faith  in  his  ain 
presbytery.  There  maun  be  something  sore 
wrang,'  he  says. 

"A'  this  time  the  young  man  had  been  standin' 
wi'  a  face  like  daith,  his  lips  workin',  tryin'  to  get 
a  word  in,  an'  oor  minister  haudin'  him  by  the  coat- 
tails,  an'  tellin'  him  for  ony  sake  to  sit  doon,  that 
there  war  plenty  there  to  speak  for  him.  But  he 
got  awa'  frae  the  minister  an'  juist  on  Maister 
Pitbye's  heels  he  spoke  oot,  *  May  I  say  that  this 
discoorse  has  passed  through  Professor  Robert- 
son's hauns  and  has  received  his  approval.' 

"  Oor  minister  sat  back  wi'  a  look  in  his  face 
as  muckle  as  to  say  « Ye  hae  done  for't  noo,  young 
man ! '  Then  there  was  a  din  to  speak  about. 
There  was  Maister  Bangour  frae  Muldow,  an'  he 


TRIALS  FOB  LICENSE.  37" 

was  a  wild  man  this  day.  'Professor  Robisonr 
indeed!  I'll  learn  you,  young  man,  that  Pro- 
fessor Robison  has  nae  standin'  i'  the  presbytery 
o'  Pitscottie,  an'  faith,  if  he  had,  we  wad  libel 
him  this  verra  day,  for  he's  a  rank  heretic,  leadin* 
the  young  men  o'  oor  kirk  astray  efter  strange 
gods !  Ay,  an'  I  wull  testifee — ' 

" '  Sit  doon,'  says  Forbes,  the  new-placed  min- 
ister o'  the  Pits,  him  that  the  collier  lads  like  so 
weel ;  *  testifee  in  your  ain  pairish,  if  you  want  to 
testifee !  Talk  sense  here ! '  says  he.  Forbes  is  a 
determined  North-countryman  as  dour  an'  radical 
as  fire,  that  got  scunnered  at  hame  wi'  the  mair 
auld-fashioned  o'  his  brethren  o'  the  kirk.  He's 
no'  a  great  respecter  o'  persons,  neyther.  He 
looks  as  if  he  had  focht  mony  battles  in  his  day, 
and  by  his  set  teeth  I  could  see  he  was  bidin'  his 
time  for  anither. 

"  Richt  gled  was  I  that  he  didna  mean  to  set 
them  in  me. 

"By  this  time  the  fiery  young  minister  frae 
the  Shaws  was  on  his  feet,  and  wi'  the  strongest 
words  an'  a  power  o'  gesture,  he  was  layin'  intil 
them  on  the  ither  side.  An'  they  were  speakin' 
aye  back  till  ye  couldna  tell  what  was  what.  But 
I  watched  Forbes  bidin'  his  time  wi'  a  face  like  a 
grew  [greyhound]  when  he  sees  the  hare  but 
canna  get  slippit. 

*'  There  was  the  verra  sma'est  calm,  an'  then 


88  THE   STICKIT   MINI8TEB. 

like  a  shot  there  was  Maister  Forbes  at  the  table. 
Some  o'  them  cried,  'Hear  Mr.  Girmory,'  but 
Forbes  said — 

" '  No,  Maister  Begbie,  ye'll  be  hearin'  me  the 
noo.  Ye  are  makkin'  bonny  fules  o'  yerself .' 

" '  My  conscience ! '  said  my  wife,  who  was 
listening  with  her  whole  being,  *  was  he  no'  blate 
to  say  that  to  ministers  ?  ' 

"  Hoots,  woman,  that's  nocht  to  what  he  said 
efter. 

" '  Ye  are  pittin'  a  premium  on  mediocrity,'  he 
says.  *  Thae  ither  twa  chaps  ye  let  through  with- 
out a  word,  though  they  stammered  like  a  boy 
new  into  the  tenpenny.  But  ye  settled  on  this 
lad  because  he  was  clever,  an'  wrote  what  he 
thocht  himsel',  an'  didna  juist  tak*  twa-three 
pages  frae  a  sermon  o'  Spurgeon's,  or  water  doon 
the  Snorter's  Quastions,'  says  he.  '  As  for  you,' 
he  says,  turnin'  sharp  to  Maister  Pitbye,  'ye  are 
speakin'  on  a  quastion  ye  ken  nocht  aboot  ava. 
An'  ye  are  weel  aware  ye  ken  nocht  aboot  it. 
Gae  hame,  man,'  he  says, '  an'  read  yer  Calvin,  or 
buy  a  Turretin  an'  read  him,  an'  then  come  back 
an'  gie  us  an  opeenion  worth  listenin'  to  on  a  the- 
ological subject.' 

" '  Order,  order ! '  said  the  clerk ;  but  the  moder- 
ator said  naething,  for  he  didna  want  Forbes  doun 
on  him. 

"I'll  no'  be  spoken  to  in  that  mainner.    I've 


TRIALS  FOR  LICENSE.  39 

never  listened  to  sic'  words  in  my  life,'  said 
Maister  Pitbye. 

" « The  mair's  the  peety,'  says  Maister  Forbes ; 
«it's  time  ye  did — but  better  late  than  never!' 

" '  I  move  we  proceed  to  license,'  says  oor  min- 
ister, verra  quaite ;  so  efter  a  show  o'  hands,  an* 
a  bit  grummle,  they  juist  did  that ;  but  there 
was  some  warm  wark  efter  the  young  men  had 
gaen  oot,  an'  yince  it  lookit  as  if  the  neeves  micht 
sune  be  goin' ;  but  it  cleared  up  verra  sudden,  and 
when  a'  was  dune,  and  they  cam'  oot,  they  war  a' 
as  thick  as  thieves — an'  Maister  Bourtree,  nae 
less,  gaed  roon  shakin'  hands  wi'  everybody,  an*' 
sayin',  '  Whatna  graun'  day  we've  had  the  day ; 
there's  been  some  life  in  Pitscottie  Presbytery 
this  day,  something  worth  comin'  doun  frae  Mul- 
dow  for!' 

"  But  I'm  no'  so  sure  that  it  was  as  great  fun 
for  the  puir  lad  frae  Enbra'.  He  said  to  myseP 
he  was  glad  he  was  gaun  awa'  to  the  Canni- 
bal Islands,  an'  no  settling  in  oor  pairt  o'the 
country.' 


40  THE  STICKIT 


"THE  HEATHER  LINTIE:" 

BBING    A   BEVIBW    OF    THE    POEMS    OF    JANET    BAL- 
CHRYSTIE,    OF   BABBBAX. 

JANET  BALCHBYSTIE  lived  in  a  little  cottage  at 
the  back  of  the  Long  Wood  of  Barbrax.  She  had 
been  a  hard-working  woman  all  her  days,  for  her 
mother  died  when  she  was  but  young,  and  she 
had  lived  on,  keeping  her  father's  house  by  the 
side  of  the  single-track  railway  line.  Gavin  Bal- 
chrystie  was  a  foreman  plate-layer  on  the  P.  P. 
R.,  and,  with  two  men  under  him,  had  charge  of 
a  section  of  three  miles.  He  lived  just  where 
that  distinguished  but  impecunious  line  plunges 
into  a  moss-covered  granite  wilderness  of  moor 
and  bog,  where  there  is  not  more  than  a  shep- 
herd's hut  to  the  half  dozen  miles,  and  where  the 
passage  of  a  train  is  the  occasion  of  commotion 
among  scattered  groups  of  black-faced  sheep. 
Gavin  Balchrystie's  three  miles  of  P.  P.  R.  metals 
gave  him  little  work  but  a  good  deal  of  healthy 
exercise.  The  black-faced  sheep  breaking  down 
the  fences  and  straying  on  the  line  side,  and  the 
torrents  coming  down  the  granite  gullies,  foas*;ng 


"THE  HEATHER  LINTEE."  41 

white  after  a  water-spout,  and  tearing  into  his 
embankments,  undermining  his  chairs  and  plates, 
were  the  only  troubles  of  his  life.  There  was, 
however,  a  little  public-house  at  The  Huts,  which 
in  the  old  days  of  construction  had  had  the 
license,  and  which  had  lingered  alone,  license  and 
all,  when  its  immediate  purpose  in  life  had  been 
fulfilled,  because  there  was  nobody  but  the 
whaups  and  the  railway  officials  on  the  passing 
trains  to  object  to  its  continuance.  Now  it  is 
cold  and  blowy  on  the  westland  moors,  and 
neither  whaups  nor  dark-blue  uniforms  object  to 
a  little  refreshment  up  there.  The  mischief  was 
that  Gavin  Balchrystie  did  not,  like  the  guards 
and  engine-drivers,  go  on  with  the  passing  train. 
He  was  always  on  the  spot,  and  the  path,  through 
Barbrax  Wood  to  the  Railway  Inn  was  as  well 
trodden  as  that  which  led  over  the  big  moss, 
where  the  whaups  built,  to  the  great  white  via- 
duct of  Loch  Merrick,  where  his  three  miles  of 
parallel  gleaming  responsibility  began. 

When  his  wife  was  but  newly  dead,  and  his 
Janet  just  a  smart  elf-locked  lassie  running  to 
and  from  the  school,  Gavin  got  too  much  in  the 
way  of  "  slippin'  doon  by."  When  Janet  grew  to 
be  woman-muckle,  Gavin  kept  the  habit,  and 
Janet  hardly  knew  that  it  was  not  the  use-and- 
wont  of  all  fathers  to  sidle  down  to  a  contiguous 
Railway  Arms,  and  return  some  hours  later  with 


42  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

uncertain  step,  and  face  picked  out  with  bright 
pin-points  of  red — the  sure  mark  of  the  confirmed 
drinker  of  whisky  neat. 

They  were  long  days  in  the  cottage  at  the  back 
of  Barbrax  Long  Wood.  The  little  "  but-an'-ben  " 
was  white- washed  till  it  dazzled  the  eyes  as  you 
came  over  the  brae  to  it  and  found  it  set  against 
the  solemn  depths  of  dark-green  firwood.  From 
early  morn  when  she  saw  her  father  off,  till  the 
dusk  of  the  day,  when  he  would  return  for  his 
supper,  Janet  Balchrystie  saw  no  human  being. 
She  heard  the  muffled  roar  of  the  trams  through 
the  deep  cutting  at  the  back  of  the  wood,  but  she 
herself  was  entirely  out  of  sight  of  the  carriage- 
fuls  of  travelers  whisking  past  within  half  a  mile 
of  her  solitude  and  meditation. 

Janet  was  what  is  called  a  "  through-gaun 
lass,"  and  her  work  for  the  day  was  often  over 
by  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Janet  grew 
to  womanhood  without  a  sweetheart.  She  was 
plain,  and  she  looked  plainer  than  she  was  in  the 
dresses  which  she  made  for  herself  by  the  light  of 
nature  and  what  she  could  remember  of  the  cur- 
rent fashions  at  Merrick  Kirk,  to  which  she  went 
every  alternate  Sunday.  Her  father  and  she  took 
day  abotit.  Wet  or  shine,  she  tramped  to  Merrick 
Kirk,  e .  en  when  the  rain  blattered  and  the  wind 
raved  nd  bleated  alternately  among  the  pines 
of  the  <ong  Wood  of  Barbrax.  Her  father  had  a 


"THE  HEATHER  UNTIE."  43 

simpler  way  of  spending  his  day  out.  He  went 
down  to  the  Railway  Inn  and  drank  "ginger- 
beer  "  all  day  with  the  landlord.  Ginger-beer  is 
an  unsteadying  beverage  when  taken  the  day  by 
the  length.  Also  the  man  who  drinks  it  steadily 
and  quietly  never  enters  on  any  inheritance  of 
length  of  days. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  one  night  Gavin  Bal- 
chrystie  did  not  come  home  at  all,  at  least,  not  till 
he  was  brought  lying  comfortably  on  the  door  of 
a  disused  third-class  carriage,  which  was  now 
seeing  out  its  career  anchored  under  the  bank  at 
Loch  Merrick,  where  Gavin  had  used  it  as  a  shel- 
ter. The  driver  of  the  "  six-fifty  up  "  train  had 
seen  him  walking  soberly  along  toward  The  Huts 
(and  the  Railway  Inn ),  letting  his  long  surface- 
man's hammer  fall  against  the  rail  keys  occasion- 
ally  as  he  walked.  He  saw  him  bend  once,  as 
though  his  keen  ear  detected  a  false  ring  in  a  loose 
length  between  two  plates.  This  was  the  last  that 
was  seen  of  him  till  the  driver  of  the  "  nine-thirty- 
seven  down"  express — the  "boat-train,"  as  the 
employes  of  the  P.  P.  R.  call  it,  with  a  touch  of 
respect  in  iheir  voices — passed  Gavin  fallen  for- 
ward on  his  face  just  when  he  was  flying  down 
grade  under  a  full  head  of  steam.  It  was  duskily 
clear,  with  a  great  lake  of  crimson  light  dying  into 
purple  over  the  hills  of  midsummer  heather.  The 
driver  was  John  Platt,  the  Englishman  from 


44  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

Crewe,  who  had  been  brought  from  the  great 
London  and  North- Western  Railway,  locally 
known  as  "  The  Ell-nen-doubleyou."  In  these  re- 
mote railway  circles  the  talk  is  as  exclusively  of 
matters  of  the  four-foot  way  as  in  Crewe  or  Derby. 
There  is  an  inspector  of  traffic  whose  portly  pres- 
ence now  graces  Carlisle  Station,  who  left  the  P. 
P.  R.  in  these  sad  days  of  amalgamation,  because 
he  could  not  endure'  to  see  so  many  "  Sou'- West ' 
wagons  passing  over  the  sacred  metals  of  the 
P.  P.  R.  permanent  way.  From  his  youth  he  had 
been  trained  in  a  creed  of  two  articles — "  To  swear 
by  the  P.  P.  R.  through  thick  and  thin,  and  hate 
the  apple-green  of  the  "  Sou'- West.' "  It  was  as 
much  as  he  could  do  to  put  up  with  the  sight  of 
the  abominations — to  have  to  hunt  for  their  trucks 
when  they  got  astray  was  more  than  mortal  could 
stand,  so  he  fled  the  land. 

So  when  they  stopped  the  express  for  Gavin 
Balchrystie,  every  man  on  the -line  felt  that  it  was 
an  honor  to  the  dead.  John  Platt  sent  a  "  gur- 
ring  "  thrill  through  the  train  as  he  put  his  brakes 
hard  down,  and  whistled  for  the  guard.  He,  th  ink- 
ing that  the  Merrick  Viaduct  was  down  at  least, 
twirled  his  brake  to  such  purpose  that  the  rear 
car  progressed  along  the  metals  by  a  series  of 
convulsive  bounds.  Then  they  softly  ran  back, 
and  there  lay  Gavin  fallen  forward  on  his  knees, 
as  though  he  bad  been  trying  to  rise,  or  had  knelt 


"THE  HEATHER  LINTIE."  45 

down  to  pray.  Let  him  have  "  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt "  in  this  world.  In  the  next,  if  all  tales  be 
true,  there  is  no  such  thing.  So  Janet  Balchrystie 
dwelt  alone  in  the  white  "  but-an'ben  "  at  the  back 
of  the  Long  Wood  of  Barbrax.  The  factor  gave 
her  notice,  but  the  laird,  who  was  not  accounted 
by  his  neighbors  to  be  very  wise,  because  he  did 
needlessly  kind  things,  told  the  factor  to  let  the 
lassie  bide,  and  delivered  to  herself  with  his  own 
handwriting  to  the  effect  that  Janet  Balchrystie, 
in  consideration  of  her  lonely  condition,  was  to 
be  allowed  the  house  for  her  life-time,  a  cow's 
grass,  and  thirty  pound  sterling  in  the  year  as  a 
charge  on  the  estate.  He  drove  down  the  cow 
himself,  and  having  stalled  it  in  the  byre,  he  in. 
formed  her  of  the  fact  over  the  yard  dike  by  word 
of  mouth,  for  he  never  could  be  induced  to  enter 
her  door.  He  was  accounted  to  be  "gey  an* 
queer"  save  by  those  who  had  tried  making  a 
bargain  with  him.  But  his  farmers  liked  him, 
knowing  him  to  be  an  easy  man  with  those  who 
had  been  really  unfortunate,  for  he  knew  to  what 
the  year's  crops  of  each  had  amounted,  to  a  single 
chalder  and  head  of  nowt. 

Deep  in  her  heart  Janet  Balchrystie  cherished 
a  great  ambition.  When  the  earliest  blackbird 
awoke  and  began  to  sing,  while  it  was  yet  gray 
twilight,  Janet  would  be  up  and  at  her  work.  She 
had  an  ambition  to  be  a  great  poet.  No  less  than 


46  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

this  would  serve  her.  But  not  even  her  father 
had  known,  and  no  other  had  any  chance  of  know- 
ing. In  the  black  leather  chest,  which  had  been 
her  mother's,  upstairs,  there  was  a  slowly  growing 
pile  of  manuscript,  and  the  editor  of  the  local 
paper  received  every  other  week  a  poem,  longer 
or  shorter,  for  his  Poet's  Corner,  in  an  envelope 
with  the  New  Dairy  postmark.  He  was  an  oblig- 
ing editor,  and  generally  gave  the  closely  written 
manuscript  to  the  senior  office-boy,  who  had 
passed  the  sixth  standard,  to  cut  down,  tinker  the 
rhymes,  and  lop  any  superfluity  of  feet.  The 
senior  office-boy  "just  spread  himself,"  as  he  said, 
and  delighted  to  do  the  job  in  style.  But  there 
was  a  woman  fading  into  a  gray  olcl-maidishness 
which  had  hardly  ever  been  girlhood,  who  did  not 
at  all  approve  of  these  corrections.  She  endured 
them  because  over  the  signature  of  "  Heather  Bell ' 
it  was  a  joy  to  see  in  the  rich,  close  luxury  of  type 
her  own  poetry,  even  though  it  might  be  a  trifle 
tattered  and  tossed  about  by  hands  ruthless  and 
alien — those,  in  fact,  of  the  senior  office-boy. 

Janet  walked  every  other  week  to  the  post- 
office  at  New  Dairy  to  post  her  letters  to  the 
editor,  but  neither  that  great  man  nor  'yet  the 
senior  office-boy  had  any  conception  that  the 
verses  of  their  "esteemed  correspondent"  were 
written  by  a  woman  too  early  old  who  dwelt 
alone  at  the  back  of  Barbrax  Long  Wood. 


"THE   HEATHER   LOTTIE."  47 

One  day  Janet  took  a  sudden  but  long-meditated 
journey.  She  went  down  by  rail  from  the  little 
station  of  The  Huts  to  the  large  town  of  Drum, 
thirty  miles  to  the  east.  Here,  with  the  most  per- 
feet  courage  and  dignity  of  bearing,  she  inter- 
viewed a  printer  and  arranged  for  the  publication 
of  her  poems  in  their  own  original  form,  no  longer 
staled  and  clapper-clawed  by  the  pencil  of  the 
senior  office-boy.  When  the  proof-sheets  came 
to  Janet,  she  had  no  way  of  indicating  the  correc- 
tions but  by  again  writing  the  whole  poem  out 
in  a  neat  print  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  proof,  and 
underscoring  the  words  which  were  to  be  altered. 
This,  when  you  think  of  it,  is  a  very  good  way, 
when  the  happiest  part  of  your  life  is  to  be  spent 
in  such  concrete  pleasures  of  hope,  as  Janet's 
were  over  the  crackly  sheets  of  the  printer  of 
Drum.  Finally  the  book  was  produced,  a  small, 
rather  thickish  octavo,  on  sufficiently  wretched 
gray  paper  which  had  suffered  from  want  of  thor- 
ough washing  in  the  original  paper-mill.  It  was 
bound  in  a  peculiarly  deadly  blue,  of  a  rectified 
Reckitt  tint,  which  gave  you  dazzles  in  the  eye  at 
any  distance  under  ten  paces.  Janet  had  selected 
this  as  the  most  appropriate  of  colors.  She  had 
also  many  years  ago  decided  upon  the  title,  so 
that  Reckitt  had  printed  upon  it,  back  and  side, 
"  The  Heather  Lintie,"  while  inside  there  was  the 
acknowledgment  of  authorship,  which  Janet  felt 


48  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

to  be  a  solemn  duty  to  the  world,  "  Poems  by 
Janet  Balchrystie,  Barbrax  Cottage,  by  New 
Dairy."  First  she  had  thought  of  withholding 
her  name  and  style ;  but  on  the  whole,  after  the 
most  prolonged  consideration,  she  felt  that  she 
was  not  justified  in  bringing  about  such  a  con- 
troversy as  divided  Scotland  concerning  that 
"Great  Unknown"  who  wrote  the  Waverley 
Novels. 

Almost  every  second  or  third  day  Janet  trod 
that  long  loch-side  road  to  New  Dairy  for  her 
proof-sheets,  and  returned  them  on  the  morrow 
corrected  in  her  own  way.  Sometimes  she  got  a 
lift  from  some  farmer  or  carter,  for  she  had  worn 
herself  with  anxiety  to  the  shadow  of  what  she 
had  once  been,  and  her  dry  bleached  hair  became 
gray  and  grayer  with  the  fervor  of  her  devotion, 
to  letters. 

By  April  the  book  was  published,  and  at  the 
end  of  this  month,  laid  aside  by  sickness  of  the 
vague  kind  called  locally  "a  decline,"  she  took  to 
her  bed,  rising  only  to  lay  a  few  sticks  upon  the 
fire  from  her  store  gathered  in  the  autumn,  or  to 
brew  herself  a  cup  of  tea,  she  waited  for  the 
tokens  of  her  book's  conquests  in  the  great  world 
of  thought  and  men.  She  had  waited  so  long  for 
her  recognition,  and  now  it  was  coming.  She  felt 
that  it  would  not  be  long  before  she  was  recog- 
nized as  one  of  the  singers  of  the  world.  Indeed, 


"THE  HEATHER   LINTIE."  49 

had  she  but  known  it,  her  recognition  was  already 
on  its  way. 

In  a  great  city  of  the  north  a  clever  young 
reporter  was  cutting  open  the  leaves  of  "  The 
Heather  Lintie "  with  a  hand  almost  feverishly 
eager. 

"  This  is  a  perfect  treasure.  This  is  a  find  in- 
deed. Here  is  my  chance  ready  to  my  hand." 

His  paper  was  making  a  specialty  of  "ex- 
posures." If  there  was  anything  weak  and  err- 
ing, anything  particularly  helpless  and  foolish 
which  could  make  no  stand  for  itself,  the  Night 
Hawk  was  on  the  pounce.  Hitherto  the  junior 
reporter  had  never  had  a  "  two-column  chance.'* 
He  had  read — it  was  not  much  that  he  had  read 
— Macaulay's  too  famous  article  on  "  Satan  "  Mont- 
gomery, and  not  knowing  that  Macaulay  lived  to 
regret  the  spirit  of  that  assault,  he  felt  that  if  he 
could  bring  down  the  Night  Hawk  on  "  The 
Heather  Lintie,"  his  fortune  was  made.  So  he 
sat  down  and  he  wrote,  not  knowing  and  not  re- 
garding a  lonely  woman's  heart,  to  whom  his 
word  would  be  as  the  word  of  a  God,  in  the  lonely 
cottage  lying  in  the  lee  of  the  Long  Wood  of 
Barbrax. 

The  junior  reporter  turned  out  a  triumph  of 
the  new  journalism.  "  This  is  a  book  which  may 
be  a  genuine  source  of  pride  to  every  native  of 
the  ancient  province  of  Galloway,"  he  wrote. 


50  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

"  Galloway  has  been  celebrated  for  black  cattle 
and  for  wool — as  also  for  a  certain  bucolic  be- 
latedness  of  temperament,  but  Galloway  has  never 
hitherto  produced  a  poetess.  One  has  arisen  hi 
the  person  of  Miss  Janet  Bal — something  or  other. 
We  have  not  an  interpreter  at  hand,  and  so  can- 
not  wrestle  with  the  intricacies  of  the  authoress's 
name,  which  appears  to  be  some  Galwegian  form 
of  Erse  or  Choctaw.  Miss  Bal — and  so  forth — 
has  a  true  fount  of  pathos  and  humor.  In  what 
touching  language  she  chronicles  the  death  of 
two  young  lambs  which  fell  into  one  of  the  puddles 
they  call  rivers  down  there,  and  were  either 
drowned  or  choked  with  the  dirt — 

" '  They  were  two  bonny,  bonny  lambs, 
That  played  upon  the  daisied  lea, 
And  loudly  mourned  their  woolly  dams 
Above  the  drumly  flowing  Dee.' 

How  touchingly  simple,"  continued  the  junior  re- 
porter, buckling  up  his  sleeves  to  enjoy  himself, 
and  feeling  himself  born  to  be  a  Saturday  Re- 
viewer;  "mark  the  local  color,  the  wool  and  the 
dirty  water  of  the  Dee — without  doubt  a  name 
applied  to  one  of  their  bigger  ditches  down  there. 
Mark  also  the  overfervency  of  the  touching  line, 

"  *  And  loudly  mourned  their  woolly  dams,' 

which,  but  for  the  sex  of  the  writer  and  her 


"THE   HEATHER   LINTIE."  51 

evident  genius,  might  be  taken  for  an  expression 
of  a  strength  hardly  permissible  even  in  the 
metropolis." 

The  junior  reporter  filled  his  two  columns  and 
enjoyed  himself  in  the  doing  of  it.  He  concluded 
with  the  words,  "  The  authoress  will  make  a  great 
success.  If  she  will  come  to  the  capital,  where 
genius  is  always  appreciated,  she  will,  without 
doubt,  make  her  fortune.  Nay,  if  Miss  Bal — , 
but  again  we  cannot  proceed  for  the  want  of  an 
interpreter — if  Miss  B.,  we  say,  will  only  accept 
a  position  at  deary's  Waxworks  and  give  read- 
ings from  her  poetry,  or  exhibit  herself  in  the 
act  of  pronouncing  her  own  name,  she  will  be  a 
greater  draw  in  this  city  than  Punch  and  Judy, 
or  even  the  latest  American  advertising  evangel- 
ist who  preaches  standing  on  his  head." 

The  junior  reporter  ceased  here  from  very  ad- 
miration at  his  own  cleverness  in  so  exactly  hit- 
ting the  tone  of  the  masters  of  his  craft,  and 
handed  his  manuscript  in  to  the  editor. 

It  was  the  gloaming  of  a  long  June  day  when 
Rob  Affleck,  the  woodman  over  at  Barbrax,  hav- 
ing been  at  New  Dairy  with  a  cart  of  wood,  left 
his  horse  on  the  road-side  and  ran  over  through 
Gavin's  old  short  cut,  now  seldom  used,  to  Janet's 
cottage  with  a  paper  in  a  yellow  wrapper. 

"  Leave  it  on  the  step,  and  thank  you  kindly, 
Rob,"  said  a  weak  voice  within,  and  Rob,  anxious 


52  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

about  his  horse  and  his  bed,  did  so  without  an- 
other  word.  In  a  moment  or  two  Janet  crawled 
to  the  door,  listened  to  make  sure  that  Rob  was 
really  gone,  opened  the  door,  and  protruded  a 
hand  wasted  to  the  hard,  flat  bone — an  arm  that 
ought  for  years  to  have  been  of  full  flesh  and  noble 
curves. 

When  Janet  got  back  to  bed  it  was  too  dark  to 
see  anything  except  the  big  printing  at  the  top 
of  the  paper. 

"  Two  columns  of  it !  "  said  Janet,  with  great 
thankfulness  in  her  heart,  lifting  up  her  soul  to 
God  who  had  given  her  the  power  to  sing.  She 
strained  her  prematurely  old  and  weary  eyes  to 
make  out  the  sense.  "  A  genuine  source  of  pride 
to  every  native  of  the  ancient  province,"  she  read. 

"  The  Lord  be  praised !  "  said  Janet,  in  a  rapture 
of  devout  thankfulness,  "  though  I  never  really 
doubted  it,"  she  added,  as  though  asking  pardon 
for  a  moment's  distrust.  "  But  I  tried  to  write 
these  poems  to  the  glory  of  God  and  not  to  my 
own  praise,  and  He  will  accept  them  and  keep  me 
humble  under  the  praise  of  men  as  well  as  under 
their  neglect." 

So  clutching  the  precious  paper  close  to  her 
breast,  and  letting  tears  of  thankfulness  fall  on 
the  article  which,  had  they  fallen  on  the  head  of 
the  junior  reporter,  would  have  burned  like  fire, 
she  patiently  awaited  the  coming  dawn. 


"THE  HEATHEB   LINTIE."  53 

" I  can  wait  till  the  morning  now  to  read  the 
rest,"  she  said. 

So  hour  after  hour,  with  her  eyes  wide,  staring 
hard  at  the  gray  window  squares,  she  waited  the 
dawn  from  the  east.  About  half-past  two  there 
was  a  stirring  and  a  moaning  among  the  pines, 
and  the  roar  of  the  sudden  gust  came  with  the 
breaking  day  through  the  dark  arches.  In  the 
whirlwind  there  came  a  strange  expectancy  and 
tremor  into  the  heart  of  the  poetess,  and  she 
pressed  the  wet  sheet  of  crumpled  paper  closer 
to  her  bosom,  and  turned  to  face  the  light. 
Through  the  spaces  of  the  Long  Wood  of  Bar- 
brax  there  came  a  shining  visitor,  the  Angel  of 
the  Presence,  he  who  comes  but  once  and  stands 
a  moment  with  a  beckoning  finger.  Him  she 
followed  up  through  the  wood. 

They  found  Janet  on  the  morning  of  the  second 
day  after,  with  a  look  so  glad  on  her  face  and  so 
natural  an  expectation  in  the  unclosed  eye,  that 
Rob  Affleck  spoke  to  her  and  expected  an  answer. 
The  Night  Hawk  was  clasped  to  her  breast  with 
a  hand  that  they  could  not  loosen.  It  went  to 
the  grave  with  her  body.  The  ink  had  run  a 
little  here  and  there,  where  the  tears  had  fallen 
thickest. 

God  is  more  merciful  than  man. 


54  $WE  8TTr!KIT  MINISTEB, 


THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK. 

JIMINY  and  Jaikie  were  two  little  boys.  They 
played  together  at  the  bottom  of  a  large  and 
beautiful  garden.  Jaikie  did  not  believe  that 
there  was  another  garden  so  large  and  fine  in  all 
the  world.  Jiminy  said  so,  and  he  was  the  min- 
ister's son  and  had  been  at  Dalmarnock  where 
the  five  steeples  are,  with  the  stars  sitting  on  tile 
tops  of  them.  The  stars  are  the  tops  of  steeples 
which  one  cannot  see  for  the  darkness  of  the 
night.  In  the  day-time,  just  the  other  way  about, 
one  sees  the  steeples,  but  cannot  see  the  stars. 
Jimmy  was  also  the  authority  for  these  state- 
ments. He  was,  as  we  said  before,  a  minister's 
son,  and,  of  course,  knew  everything.  Jaikie's 
father  was  an  elder,  and  did  not  admire  the 
father  of  Jiminy  at  all ;  but  his  son  made  it  up 
by  holding  Jiminy  infallible. 

There  was  a  great  dispute  in  the  little  Kirk  of 
the  Marrow.  Long  ago,  long  before  these  boys 
were  born,  or  their  grandfathers  either,  a  book 
had  been  carried  up  from  England  in  an  old 
soldier's  satchel  which  had  set  all  Scotland  by 
the  ears.  Kirks  had  been  split,  ministers  had  been 


THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK.        55 

deposed,  new  denominations  had  been  formed 
over  the  old  soldier's  wallet  book.  Now,  a  hun- 
dred years  later,  the  little  kirk  of  the  Marrow,  in 
the  village  of  Muirgate,  was  in  the  "  deep  thraws  " 
of  a  disruption.  The  Reverend  Simon  Adam, 
locally  known  as  "  Maister  Ay  dam,"  with  the 
larger  portion  of  the  congregation,  was  for  follow- 
ing the  majority  of  the  congregations  of  the  kirk 
of  the  Marrow  scattered  over  the  southern  up- 
lands into  the  larger  fold  of  one  of  the  better- 
known  evangelical  communions  of  Scotland. 
Ebenezer  Langbakkit,  Jaikie's  father,  led  the  op- 
position to  this  union,  and  threatened  to  carry 
their  opposition  even  to  the  extremity  of  extrud- 
ing the  minister  from  his  manse  and  kail-yard, 
and  barring  the  door  of  the  kirk  in  his  face, 
because  he  had  forsworn  his  ordination  vows,  and 
gone  back  from  the  pure  doctrine  and  practice  of 
the  "  Marrowmen,"  as  laid  down  in  the  famous 
controversy  by  Thomas  Boston  and  other  precious 
and  savory  divines. 

Thus  far  the  war  of  the  Marrow  Kirk  of  Muir- 
gate. But  the  two  little  boys  wotted  little  of  it 
as  they  played  together  in  that  large  garden 
during  the  long-continued  heats  of  the  dry  sum- 
mer. The  garden  was  cut  up  into  squares  by 
walks  which  ran  at  right  angles  to  one  another. 
There  were  square  plots  of  gooseberry  bushes, 
square  wildernesses  of  pea-sticks,  and  square 


56  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

strawberry  beds  in  that  corner  where  it  was  for- 
bidden for  small,  sweet-toothed  boys  to  go.  At  the 
upper  end  an  orchard  ran  right  across,  every  tree 
in  which  was  climbable,  and  a  wall,  with  a  flight  of 
steps  over  into  a  field,  bounded  all.  Great  trees, 
generations  old,  surrounded  the  garden  and 
orchard,  and  cast  here  and  there  throughout  it 
circular  plots  of  pleasant  shade  amid  the  garden 
squares.  It  was,  said  the  wiseacres,  too  much 
buried  in  foliage  to  make  the  best  of  gardens. 
But  it  suited  two  small  boys  that  summer  very 
well. 

The  boys  did  not  go  to  school.  Jimmy  Adam  had 
a  brief  and  terrible  struggle  with  the  Latin  verb 
every  morning  in  his  father's  study,  whence  he 
smerged  to  forget  all  about  the  matter  for  the  other 
twenty-three  hours ;  but  Jaikie  had  no  call  to  go 
to  the  school  at  all,  for  there  was  no  school-board 
officer  in  those  days ;  the  dominie  was  infirm  and 
old,  and  Jaikie's  father  divided  his  time  between 
plotting  against  Maister  Aydam  and  a  course  of 
black,  gloomy  drinking  in  his  own  house. 

Week  after  week  the  climax  of  dicontent  ap- 
proached. The  true  Marrowmen,  as  Eby  Lang- 
bakkit's  party  called  themselves,  were  all  grim 
men  determined  not  to  company  with  those  who 
had  but  recently  separated  from  an  "  Erastian 
and  Malignant"  (with  a  capital  M)  Establish- 
ment, and  who  had  never  purged  themselves 


THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK.        57 

from  their  guilty  compliance.  Nor  would  they 
permit  the  kirk  of  by -gone  valiant  pretestings  to 
be  longer  desecrated  by  the  services  of  a  man 
like  Mr.  Adam,  who  had  conformed  to  the  too 
easy  temper  of  the  times. 

Thus  far  had  the  matter  gone  when  one  day 
Jiminy  and  Jaikie  played  together  by  the  orchard 
wall.  They  were  very  small  boys,  and  as  there 
were  no  girls  about,  or  other  boys  to  reproach 
them  for  their  childishness,  they  played  at  build- 
ing houses  and  living  in  them.  Jiminy  was  arch- 
itect, and  directed  the  operations,  ordering  Jaikie 
about  like  a  hod-carrier  to  fetch  and  carry  for  him 
all  day  long.  When  he  threw  a  load  of  stones  at 
him  disdainf ully,  Jaikie  was  in  the  seventh  heaven 
of  ecstasy.  Jaikie  adored  all  who  abused  him,  if 
only  they  allowed  him  to  worship  them.  Jiminy 
had  no  objection.  Often  Jaikie  would  have  liked 
to  inhabit  for  a  little  one  of  the  splendid  mansions 
which  he  toiled  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow  to  erect. 
But  it  was  not  to  be.  As  soon  as  a  plan  was 
completed,  after  one  discontented  survey,  Jiminy 
would  kick  down  all  their  hard  work  and  start 
over  again  on  a  new  and  improved  plan.  Once 
Jaikie  begged  Jiminy  not  to  kick  down  a  specially 
noble  tower  built  with  mud,  which  Jaikie  had 
labored  like  a  Hebrew  slave  bondaging  in  Egypt 
to  bring  up  from  the  river.  Then  Jiminy  kicked 
Jaikie  for  interfering  where  he  had  no  business, 


68  THE  8TICKIT  MINI8TEB. 

which  sent  that  hero- worshiper  into  the  seventh 
heaven  of  happiness. 

Couched  in  his  bunk  at  nights,  beneath  the  little 
gable  window  in  the  attic,  Jaikie  could  hear  the 
confabulations  of  the  Marrowmen  who  came  to 
receive  their  instructions  from  that  grim  sectary, 
Eby  Langbakkit.  It  was  some  time  before  Jaikie 
paid  any  heed  to  these  gatherings.  He  had  been 
accustomed  to  such  silent  and  dour  assemblies 
downstairs  as  long  as  he  could  remember,  with 
a  black  bottle  of  whisky  sitting  in  the  middle  of 
the  table,  and  his  father  casting  a  wary  eye  at 
each  man  as  he  took  his  dram  to  see  that  no  ad- 
vantage was  taken.  If  there  were,  Ebenezer  Lang, 
bakkit  checked  the  offender  sharply,  as,  indeed, 
he  had  every  right  to  do,  being  an  elder. 

Lately,  however,  stirred  to  some  attention  by 
Jiminy's  dark  hints  of  plots  and  conspiracies,  he 
had  taken  to  crawling  out  of  his  bed  every  night 
and  lying  at  the  top  of  the  ladder,  a  shivering 
little  phantom,  listening  to  the  talk  that  went  on 
beneath. 

"Shall  we  be  degradit  and  abolished,"  said 
Jaikie's  father,  "  swallowed  quick  by  the  whore 
that  sitteth  on  the  Seven  Hills  ?  " 

Murmurs  of  applause.  « 'Deed,  they're  little 
better!" 

"  Shall  the  truth-forsaking  hireling  of  the  flock 
lead  away  his  silly  sheep,  and  also  keep  possession 


THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK.        69 

of  the  sheepf old  ?  Nay,  verily !  The  faithful 
must  take  and  the  contending  remnant  must 
possess ! " 

All  this  was  not  much  to  the  purpose,  and 
Jaikie  dovered  over  to  sleep.  When  he  awoke 
his  father  was  giving  more  understandable  direc- 
tions. 

"  You,  John  Howieson,  are  to  tak'  three  wi'  you 
an'  lie  in  the  trees  at  the  foot  o'  the  orchard ;  then 
when  ye  see  Bell  Girmory  gaun  doon  to  the  village 
with  a  message — I'll  see  that  she  gangs — ye'll 
gang  yer  ways  up  and  tak'  possession  o'  the  manse. 
The  minister  will  no'  he  hame  for  the  maitter  o' 
an'  'oor.  He'll  be  preachin'  at  Cairn  Edward,  as 
I  telled  ye.  Then  yince  in  the  manse,  ye  maun 
haud  it  against  a'  comers  by  virtue  o'  the  deeds 
and  charters  that  I  gie  ye.  When  he  brings  ye 
to  the  question,  ye  are  to  say  to  him  that  all  his 
household  goods  will  be  cared  for  and  delivered 
to  him  upon  demand,  and  that  a  decent  lodging 
has  been  bespoken  for  him  in  the  house  of  Elspeth 
MacClevver,  that's  a  decent  woman,  an'  clean, 
though  no  better  than  a  Burgher. 

"  Meanwhile,  the  lave  o'  ye  are  to  come  wi'  me 
an'  we  are  in  like  manner  to  haud  the  kirk.  Come 
weel  providit,  for  we're  to  haud  it  a'  day  on 
Saturday,  and  a'  the  nicht  likewise,  till  Zechariah 
Mosshaggs,  that  true  servant  of  the  Lord,  shall 
come  to  preach  the  kirk  vacant  in  the  name  of  the 


60  THE   STIOKIT   MINISTER. 

Faithful  Remnant  of  the  Synod  of  the  Marrow- 
men." 

Jaikie  had  not  been  asleep  all  this  time.  He 
listened  as  he  never  listened  before,  except  when 
Jiminy  was  giving  his  orders  and  looking  as  if  he 
were  going  to  kick. 

All  night  Jaikie  lay  awake  till  the  early  light 
brightened  to  another  dewless  morning,  for  the 
earth  was  dun  and  dusty  with  the  parching  of  the 
sun.  As  soon  as  it  was  light,  Jaikie  slid  down 
the  trunk  of  the  rowan  tree  which  threw  a  con- 
venient branch  to  his  window,  to  make  a  stair- 
case for  a  little  boy  in  a  hurry,  who  might  not 
wish  to  disturb  his  father  with  his  late  bedding 
or  his  early  rising.  The  bare  legs  of  Jaikie  pad- 
dled through  the  dust  and  over  the  burned-up 
russet  grass,  across  the  dry  bed  of  the  burn  to 
Jiminy's  window.  Here  he  whistled  that  peculiar 
call  which  Jiminy  had  revealed  to  him  under  the 
dreadful  shadow  of  night,  in  the  dusky  cavern  of 
the  Bloody  Hand  ( known  in  the  day-time  as  the 
manse  potato  house),  a  call  which  Jaikie  believed 
to  be  connected  with  the  black  art,  and  in  case  of 
revealing  the  secret  of  which  he  was  under  solemn 
obligation,  sealed  with  his  blood,  to  cut  his  throat 
and  afterward  to  be  kicked  black  and  blue  by 
Jiminy,  who  was  a  master  of  the  darkest  wizardry, 
according  to  his  own  account. 

As  he  continued  to  whistle,  a  large  sea-shell, 


THE   SPLIT   HT  THE  MAKROW  KUtK.        61 

pink  inside,  swung  down  from  an  upper  window 
and  impinged  abruptly  on  his  bare  leg. 

"  Ow !  "  said  Jaikie. 

"Stop  that  horrid  noise.  That'll  learn  ye. 
You'll  wakken  my  father ! "  said  Jiminy,  in  his 
night-dress.  "  What  d'ye  want,  at  ony  rate,  at 
this  time  in  the  mornin  '  ? " 

"  Come  doon  an'  I'll  tell  ye ;  I  canna  cry  it  up 
there." 

"  Get  away.  I'm  no'  comin'  doon  in  the  middle 
o'  the  nicht,"  said  Jimmy,  who  had  lapsed  into 
the  Doric  of  his  play  hours. 

"Oh,  Jiminy,  ye  micht  come  doon.  It's  an 
awfu'-like  thing  I  hae  to  tell  ye.  It's  aboot  yer 
father.  Ye  maun  come  doon  the  noo.  I'll  let  ye 
kick  me  for  hale  five  meenites  gin  ye  like." 

Filial  affection  or  the  prospect  of  healthy  leg- 
exercise  brought  Jiminy  down  with  a  run,  and  the 
two  boys  wandered  off  into  the  wood  in  close 
confabulation. 

It  was  the  Saturday  morning  of  the  plot.  The 
minister  who  stood  so  near  the  brink  of  his  ex- 
trusion was  on  his  way  home  from  Cairn  Edward, 
where  he  had  been  "daubing  with  untempered 
mortar,"  as  Eby  Langbakkit  said,  by  preaching 
in  an  Unco venan  ted  Kirk. 

Round  the  corner  of  the  orcuard,  dividing  into 
two  bands  as  they  came,  stole  the  Faithful  Rem- 
nant to  take  possession  of  the  kirk  and  manse 


62  THE  8TICKIT  MINISTER. 

into  which  Simon  Adam  was  no  more  to  come. 
Bell  Girmory  duly  departed  through  the  trees 
with  her  lilac  sun-bonnet  on  in  the  direction  of 
the  village.  She  had  a  large  basket  over  her 
arm. 

John  Howieson  and  his  henchmen  took  the 
manse  in  front  and  rear ;  but  the  front  door, 
which  had  only  been  shut  at  night,  and  never 
locked  even  then,  was  now  bolted  and  barred. 
The  back  door  was  also  firmly  locked,  and  when 
John  Howieson  went  to  lift  the  kitchen  window, 
the  secret  of  which  he  knew  from  having  courted 
(unsuccessfully)  numerous  manse  lasses,  Bell's 
predecessors,  he  recoiled  in  sudden  amazement. 
He  had  looked  down  the  bell  mouth  of  an  ancient 
blunderbuss,  into  which  the  sun  shone  so  plain 
that,  as  he  said  afterward,  "Man,  I  could  hae 
coontit  the  lead  draps  at  the  buddom  [bottom]  o* 
her!" 

This  weapon  of  war  was  in  the  hands  of  a 
militant  small  boy.  The  council  of  war  had 
forgotten  to  reckon  with  Jiminy  ;  still  more,  they 
had  not  taken  Jaikie  into  account.  They  soon  had 
to  do  so,  for  Jaikie  was  under  orders  from 
"  General "  Jiminy,  and  had  every  intention  of 
obeying  them. 

Ebenezer  Langbakkit  had  gone  openly  with  half 
a  dozen  others  to  take  possession  of  the  kirk  at 
twelve  of  the  clock.  He  had  made  a  key  for  the 


THE   SPLIT   IN  THE  MARROW   KIRK.         68 

lock,  and  anticipated  no  difficulty.  His  surprise 
was  great  when  he  found  that  there  was  a  key 
already  in  the  lock  on  the  inside.  He  tried  the 
southern  door  with  a  similar  effect.  He  put  his 
fingers  through  the  hole  by  which,  as  in  a  stable 
door,  the  inside  latch  was  lifted,  but  within  that 
aperture  his  finger  encountered  something  hard 
and  cold.  He  applied  his  eye,  and,  just  as  John 
Howieson  was  doing  at  that  moment  over  at  the 
manse,  he  found  himself  looking  down  the  barrel 
of  a  gun.  The  sensation  is  not  an  agreeable  one 
even  to  an  elder  of  the  Kirk  of  the  Marrow. 
Looking  through  the  window  precariously,  from 
the  branches  of  a  neighboring  tree,  his  surprise 
was  not  lessened  and  his  anger  greatly  increased 
by  seeing  his  own  son,  Jaikie,  marching  up  and 
down  the  aisle,  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  as 
proud  and  erect  as  a  veteran  of  Ramilies. 

"  Open  the  door  this  instant,  Jaikie !  "  he  thun- 
dered, black  anger  sitting  on  him  like  the  night. 
But  Jaikie  answered  not  a  word.  He  had  his 
orders  from  Jiminy. 

From  window  to  window  thundered  Eby  Lang- 
bakkit,  but  there  was  no  way  of  entrance. 

At  each  window  and  door  stood  the  inevitable 
small  boy  with  the  large  gun,  and  the  reflection 
lay  heavily  on  all  the  party  that  a  small  boy  witi 
a  man's  gun  is  more  to  be  feared  than  a  larg< 
man  with  a  boy's  gun — a  commonplace  thought 


64  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

but  one  with  practical  bearing  at  that  moment  to 
the  sect  of  Eby  Langbakkit. 

Then  Eby  Langbakkit  swore  a  great  oath 
that  in  that  kirk  he  would  be,  though  he  swung 
for  it. 

"Bring  me  the  poother  flask!"  he  ordered; 
but  no  man  gave  it  to  him,  for  they  feared  what 
they  saw  in  his  face. 

"  Yo'll  no'  hurt  the  laddie.  He's  your  ain  son," 
said  one  to  him. 

"  Then  he's  no'  yours,"  he  answered,  blackly ; 
"  so  mind  your  ain  business." 

He  got  his  own  powder  flask,  inserted  a  slow 
match  into  it,  and  placed  it  beneath  the  door. 
Then  he  stood  apart  waiting  for  the  event. 
There  was  a  loud  report,  an  instant  rush  of  white 
smoke,  and  the  side  of  the  flask  buried  itself 
the  tree  close  to  the  elder's  head.  When  the 
smoke  cleared  away  the  kirk  door  lay  on  its  side, 
having  fallen  heavily  inward.  There  was  no 
small  boy  to  be  seen  from  end  to  end  of  the 
empty  kirk.  Langbakkit  sprung  forward  hi 
fierce  anger  that  his  son  had  escaped  without  his 
deserts.  The  silence  and  chill  of  the  empty  kirk 
alone  met  him. 

He  was  about  to  step  over  the  fallen  door, 
when  out  from  beneath  the  heavy  iron-studded 
oak  he  saw  stealing  a  tiny  thread  of  red.  Some- 
thing struck  him  to  the  heart.  He  pressed  his 


THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK.         65 

hand  on  his  breast  and  stood,  not  daring  to  go 
further. 

"  Mr.  Langbakkit,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  " 
said  the  calm  voice  of  the  minister,  Mr.  Adam. 
No  one  replied.  The  protest  died  out  at  the 
sight  of  that  faint  streak  of  liquid  scarlet  and  the 
fear  of  what  lay  unseen  beneath  it. 

"  Saunders  Grierson  and  David  Robb,  I  command 
you,  help  me  to  lift  the  door  of  the  house  of  God ! " 
said  the  minister. 

The  two  men  named  approached  awkwardly, 
and  between  them  the  three  lifted  the  heavy 
door.  Beneath  it  lay  the  crushed  and  torn  body 
of  a  boy,  still  clasping  firmly  an  iron  tube  thrust 
into  a  rough  lump  of  wood.  He  must  have  stood 
quite  close  to  the  door  when  the  flask  exploded,  for 
the  explosion  had  torn  the  clothes  almost  off  his 
poor  body. 

The  minister  raised  him  tenderly  in  his  arms, 
and  wiped  his  face  very  gently  with  his  napkin. 
The  sight  of  this  seemed  to  awaken  Ebenezer 
Langbakkit. 

"Give  me  my  dead,"  he  said,  suddenly  and 
roughly.  "  The  Lord  has  stricken  me.  I  am  a 
man  of  violence  ! "  So  saying,  he  strode  away, 

wed  with  his  burden. 


Now,  this  is  properly  the  end  of  the  story  of 
5 


66  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

the  split  in  the  Marrow  Kirk,  but  for  the  sake  of 
some  who  may  love  Jaikie,  it  is  enough  to  say 
that,  though  sore  wounded,  he  did  not  die. 
When  Jiminy  went  to  see  him,  he  lay  a  long  time 
silently  holding  his  friend's  hand. 

"I  couldna  keep  them  oot,  Jiminy,  but  I  did 
my  best.  Ye'll  no'  hae  to  kick  me  for't  when  I 
get  better." 

And  Jiminy  never  kicked  him  any  more. 
When  it  was  time  for  Jiminy  to  go  to  college,  he 
had  for  companion,  at  Maister  Adam's  expense, 
a  lame  lad  with  a  beautiful  countenance.  His 
name  was  Jaikie. 


THE  PROBATIONER. 

THOMAS  TODD  has  just  received  a  call  to  the 
Kirk  of  Dowiedens,  somewhere  over  on  Tweed- 
side,  so  he  can  hardly  be  called  a  minister  of  our 
country-side ;  but  there  need  be  no  objection  if 
the  lad  is  allowed  to  say  his  say  among  the  rest, 
for  he  belongs  to  this  part  of  the  country,  and 
his  father  before  him.  He  has  been  a  long  time 
as  a  probationer — six  year  and  more — so  that 
there  were  some  that  said  that  he  would  never 
•wag  his  head  but  in  another  man's  pulpit.  But 
Tarn  cheated  them  all,  for  he  is  to  be  ordained  to 


THE  PROBATIONER.  67 

the  pastoral  charge  of  Dowiedens  a  fortnight 
come  Friday.  It's  not  to  say  a  large  parish,  be- 
ing wide  scattered,  with  as  much  exercise  for  the 
legs  as  for  the  brains  in  looking  after  the  fowk. 
There  are  but  few  parishoners,  only,  as  Tammas 
says,  "  They  are  as  ill  to  please  as  St.  George's 
itsel' ! "  Tammas  has  been  biding  with  us  at 
Drumquhat ;  he's  a  great  favorite  with  the  mis- 
tress. Many  is  the  girdleful  of  crumpy  cakes 
that  she  will  bake  for  him,  when  I  dare  not 
suggest  the  like  to  her — no,  not  for  my  life. 

"  Hae  ye  nae  sense  ava,  Saunders  MaWhurr,  to 
come  fleechin'  wi'  me  to  bake  ye  short-breed  an* 
sic  like,  wi'  the  pigs  to  feed  an'  the  hervesters 
comin'  in  gilravagin'  wi'  hunger  at  six  o'clock. 
Think  shame  o'  yer  bairnly  weys,  man ! " 

But  if  Tammas  Todd  comes  ben  an'  sits  doon, 
the  wif  e'll  gie  her  han's  a  dicht,  slip  aff  her  apron, 
an'  come  in  to  hear  about  Enbra'  an'  the  laddies' 
landladies,  and  their  awfu'  wickednesses  wi'  the 
coals  an'  the  butter,  till  she'll  say,  "  Come  awa'  to 
the  kitchen,  an'  I  can  be  bakin'  a  bit  sweet  cake 
for  the  tea — the  guidman's  fell  fond  o't!" 

The  Almichty  in  His  wonderful  providence 
made  mony  curious  things,  but  nane  o'  them  so 
queer  an'  contrary  as  the  weemen-fowk.  This  is 
what  I  says  to  myself,  but  I  have  more  sense  than 
to  say  it  aloud.  I'll  warrant  that  Bong  Solomon 
among  his  other  wisdom  learned  to  haud  his 


68  THE  STICKIT  MINI8TEB. 

tongue  before  he  got  as  many  as  three  hunder 
•wives. 

This  is  what  the  laddie  said  sitting  on  the  table 
at  the  end  of  the  bake-board.  Tammas  is  gettin* 
on  for  thirty,  but  in  some  things  it's  strange  to 
see  him  so  keen  of  sweet  things.  He'll  take  up  a 
bit  o'  the  dough  that  the  wife  is  rolling  out  wi' 
her  wooden  pin,  and  he  eats  it  like  a  laddie  harae 
from  the  school ;  but  my  certie,  I  would  like  to 
see  ony  one  of  her  ain  try  that ;  he  would  get  a 
ring  on  the  side  of  the  head  that  would  learn  him 
to  leave  his  mither  alone  when  she  was  baking. 
But  Tammas  could  aye  get  the  soft  side  of  the 
mistress. 

"We'll  no' hae  to  ca*  ye  'Tammas'  when  ye 
get  to  be  a  placed  minister,"  says  she,  knowing 
brawly  that  the  lad'll  be  "  Tammas "  to  all  at 
Drumquhat  till  his  dying  day. 

"  If  ye  dinna,"  says  he,  "  I'll  never  look  near 
the  bit."  Tammas  can  speak  the  English  as  weel 
as  ony  body,  but  when  he  gets  among  his  own  folk 
he  prides  himself  on  relapsing,  so  to  speak,  into 
the  broadest  Gallowa'.  He  laughs  at  me  for  be- 
ing fond  of  writing  in  proper  English.  He  says 
that  I  need  not  try  it,  for  when  I  do  my  best, 
every  sentence  has  got  the  "  Gallowa'  lug-mark  " 
plain  on  it.  But  this  is  his  nonsense. 

"  Te  maun  hae  had  some  queer  bars,  Tammas, 
in  your  time,"  said  the  mistress. 


THE  PKOBATIONEE.  69 

Tammas  gied  a  bit  smile,  and  said  with  the 
pleased  look  that  a  man  has  when  he's  accused  of 
something  that  he  likes  to  hear  about,  like  a  pussy 
strokitthe  richt  way — I  mind  weel  mysel'  walk- 
ing three  miles  to  be  tormented  about  Jessie  Scott 
before  we  were  married — "  Nocht  to  speak  aboot," 
says  he,  "  but,  of  coorse,  a  man  canna  gang  aboot 
six  years  wi'  a  pokemantie  withoot  seem'  some- 
thin'  o'  baith  sides  o'  life." 

"  Ye'll  hae  been  in  a  fecko'  manses  in  yer  time, 
Tammas  ?  " 

"Ay,  Mrs.  MaWhurr,"  says  he,  "and  let  me 
tell  you,  that  there's  no  sic  hooses  as  manses  in 
Scotlan',  or  onywhere  else — that  is,"  he  says, 
"nine  oot  o'  every  ten  o'  them.  I  wad  be  an  in- 
grate  to  say  onything  else,  for  in  nearly  every 
instance  I  have  been  treated,  no  like  a  puir  pro- 
bationer preachin'  for  his  guinea  fee  and  gaun  off 
like  a  beggar  wi'  his  awmus  on  Monday  mornin', 
but  like  a  verra  prince.  I  hae  memories  o'  the 
mistresses  o'  the  manses  o'  Scotlan'  that  will 
never  be  forgotten  ! " 

"  An'  o'  the  dochters  o'  the  manses  ?"  says  I,  just 
above  my  breath.  Then  there  was  a  warm  color 
rose  to  the  cheek  of  the  minister-elect  of  the 
Dowiedens,  and  mantled  on  his  brow,  but  he  said, 
bravely : 

"  Ay,  an'  the  lasses  were  kind  to  me,  they  were 
that." 


70  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

«  When  is't  to  be?"  says  I. 

"  Let  the  lad  alane,  can  ye  no,  Saunders  Ma- 
Whurr ;  ye're  never  dune  wi'  yer  fule  talk,"  saya 
my  wife.  She  had  been  talking  even  on  the  whole 
night,  and  I  had  said  maybe  a  dozen  words.  But 
I  let  that  pass. 

"  Of  coorse,  among  so  mony  there  were  bun'  to 
be  some  queer  yins  ?  "  suggested  my  wife,  fishing 
in  the  young  man's  shallow  water.  The  wife  can 
draw  most  folks,  but  Saunders  MaWhurr  has 
leeved  ower  lang  wi'  her  not  to  see  through  her 
wiles. 

"  Weel,  I  mind,"  says  Tammas  Todd,  "o'  yince 
being  askit  to  preach  at  a  certain  place ;  I'll  no  say 
where,  nor  I'll  no'  tell  ye  gin  ye  speer.  It  was 
maybes  half-past  seven  when  I  got  to  the  manse, 
an'  I  had  a  long  journey. 

" '  Ye'll  be  tired  an'  hungry,'  said  the  mistress. 
'Ye'll  be  wantin'  to  gang  sune  to  your  bed.' 
Hungry  I  was,  but  to  gang  sune  to  your  bed  is 
no'  so  common  amang  us  lads  wi'  the  black  bag 
but  I  said  nocht,  and  took  my  cup  o'  tea,  an'  some 
bread  an'  butter.  '  Tak'  plenty  o'  the  bread  an* 
butter,'  she  says;  'we  hae  nae  cauld  meat.'  I 
wad  hae  been  gled  to  see  some  o'  that  same,  but 
it  wasna  for  me  to  say  onything. 

"  Aboot  nine  I  saw  some  o'  them  gettin'  par- 
tic'lar  fidgety  like,  gaun  oot  an*  in,  yin  sayin,' 
«Is  Mr,  Todd's  room  ready?'  an'  anituir  yin 


THE  PKOBATIONER.  71 

rinnin'  doon-stairs  cryin'  to  somebody  in  the 
kitchen,  '  Can  ye  no'  wait  awee  ? ' 

"  Then  I  was  askit  to  tak'  the  Buik,  an'  as  sune 
as  ever  I  gat  up  the  mistress  brocht  in  my  bed- 
room can'le.  'Yer  room's  ready  whenever  ye 
like,'  she  says.  This  was  what  I  ca'  a  solid  kind 
o'  hint,  aboot  as  braid  as  it's  lang,  an'  it  was  mair 
than  eneuch  for  me,  so  I  took  baith  hint  an'  can'le, 
an'  gaed  my  ways. 

"  But  I  hadna  been  ten  meenutes  in  my  room 
when  I  took  a  thocht  to  gie  my  sermons  for  the 
morn  a  bit  look,  but  I  fand  that  I  had  left  my 
Bible  in  the  room  where  I  had  my  tea.  So  with- 
oot  a  thocht,  doon  I  gaed  to  get  the  buik,  an'  when 
I  opened  the  door  what  do  you  think  I  saw?" 

We  were  silent  every  one. 

"  Weel,  I  saw  the  hale  family  sittin'  doon  to  a 
hot  supper ! " 

"  Davert !  that  cowes  a',"  said  my  wife,  her 
hospitable  soul  up  in  arms.  "  An'  tell  me,  what- 
ever did  ye  do  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Tammas  Todd,  "  I  hae  lookit  in 
every  buik  o'  '  Guid  Mainners,'  an'  in  a'  the 
*  Guides  to  Polite  Society,'  but  I  canna  find  a 
word  in  ony  yin  o'  them  that  tells  me  what  I 
shoud  hae  dune. " 

"  I  dare  say  no' ;  ye  were  in  no  polite  society 
that  nicht ! "  said  Mrs.  MaWhurr  ;  "  but  tell  me, 
what  did  ye  do  ?  " 


f2  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

"Weel,"  said  Tammas,  "  I  juist  cam'  my  ways  up 
the  stair  again,  an'  took  the  lave  o'  the  sandwiches 
that  the  minister's  wife,  wha's  hoose  I  had  left 
that  inornin',  had  kindly  pitted  up  for  me." 

"  The  Lord  be  thankit,  they're  no'  a'  alike," 
said  my  wife,  devoutly. 

"  Na,  far  f rae  that,"  said  Tammas  Todd ;  "  deed 
I'm  ashamed  to  tell  ye  o'  this  yin,  but  there's  no 
sic  anithir  in  a'  Scotlan'  I'se  warrant.  An'  when 
I  gaed  back  to  the  leddy's  hoose  that  gied  me  the 
sandwiches,  which  I  did  on  the  followin'  Setter- 
day,  she  was  like  to  greet  to  think  on  the  wey 
that  I  had  been  used.  She  aye  said  that  I  minded 
her  o'  her  ain  boy  that  she  had  lost — '  My  puir 
lad ! '  she  says,  an'  she  cam'  near  takin'  me  roun' 
the  neck,  she  was  that  sair  pitten  aboot." 

"  Maybes  the  dochter  did  it  a'thegither,"  says 
I,  for  a  wee  bird  had  brocht  the  news  that  the 
manse  at  Dowiedens  wasna  long  to  be  withoot  a 
mistress. 

"  Saunders  MaWhurr — "  began  my  wife  in  the 
voice  that  she  uses  when  the  byre  lass  is  ower 
lang  in  bringin'  in  the  kye. 

"  Never  mind  him,  Mrs.  MaWhurr ;  he  maun 
hae  been  a  gey  boy  himseP  to  hae  the  lasses  so 
constant  in  his  mind ! "  said  Tammas,  which  was 
a  most  uncalled-for  observe. 

"  Ye'll  be  a' by  wi' probationeriri  noo',  Tammas? ' 
says  I,  to  gie  him  a  new  lead. 


THE  PROBATIONER.  73 

«  Weel,  I  had  a  sma'  experience  Sabbath  eight 
days,  nae  farther  gane,"  said  he.  "  I  had  occa- 
sion to  look  in  at  the  Kirk  Offices  to  see  old '  Jere- 
miah ' — him  that  sen's  us  to  oor  preachin'  places, 
ye  ken,  an'  says  he,  '  Man,  ye  micht  gang  doon 
to  Elvanby  ;  it'll  no'  be  oot  o'  yer  wey  gin  ye're 
gaun  doon  to  the  Border  Country  onywey — : 

"  On  yer  wey  to  the  manse  whaur  the  fowk  tak* 
ye  roon  the  neck,  nae  doot ! "  says  I. 

My  wife  gied  me  a  look  that  wad  hae  speaned  a 
foal,  but  Tammas  Todd  never  let  on. 

"  So  I  gaed  doon  wi'  the  afternoon  train  to 
Elvanby,  which  is  the  biggest  place  on  the  rail- 
way line.  I  got  there  ower  in  the  forenicht.  It 
was  as  dark  as  the  guidman's  snuff-box,  an* 
rainin'  in  sheets.  I  had  a  heavy  bag,  for  I  had 
my  buiks  to  prepare  for  my  ordination — " 

"  An'  yer  co-ordination  too,  no  doot,"  says  I, 
"forwi'  you  ministers  I  hae  noticed  that  the 
ordination  comes  first,  an'  syne  the  co-ordination, 
but  ye're  maistly  sunest  ready  for  the  co-ordi- 
nation. The  last  first,  that's  your  motto,"  says  I. 

"  I  dinna  understand  a  word  ye're  sayin',"  says 
he ;  "  ye're  haiverin',  guidman." 

"  Dinna  be  ashamed  o't,  my  young  man,"  says 
I.  "  It's  a  hantle  easier  gettin'  a  lass  than  a  kirk 
ony  day !  "  says  I. 

"  And  that's  a  true  word,"  said  the  probationer 
of  six  years'  standing. 


f4  THE  STICKIT  MINI8TEB. 

"So,"  continued  Tammas,  "I  speered  at  the 
porter  at  the  station  the  wey  to  the  manse.  « It's 
at  the  fito'  the  Back  Street,'  says  he,  'but  some- 
body telled  me  that  he  was  no'  leevin'  in't  noo ; 
but  gang  ye  ower  there  to  the  shop  o'  yin  o'  the 
elders,  an'  he'll  be  sure  to  ken.' 

"  The  master  was  oot,  but  a  laddie  telled  me 
that  the  minister  was  leevin'  aboot  twa  mile  oot 
the  Carlisle  Road,  but  he  didna  think  that  he  was 
at  hame,  for  there  had  been  naething  sent  up  to 
the  hoose  for  a  month.  This  was  real  cheerfu' 
hearin'  for  me  wi'  my  heavy  bag  and  an  umbrella, 
but  there  was  naething  for  it  but  to  gang  on.  So 
I  trudged  away  doon  the  Carlisle  Road,  glaur  to 
the  oxters,  an'  changin'  my  bag  frae  the  yae  side 
to  the  ither  as  if  I  war  swingin'  it  for  a  wager. 
I  speered  at  every  hoose,  but  the  answer  was 
aye,  'It's  aboot  a  mile  farther  doon!'  They 
maun  be  poor  road  surveyors  in  that  direction, 
for  their  miles  are  like  sea  miles  for  length. 

"  At  the  hinner  en'  I  f and  the  hoose,  by  scartin* 
a  match  an'  readin'  the  plate  on  the  gate.  I 
rang  the  bell,  but  a'  was  in  darkness.  I  stood  a 
gey  while  in  the  rani,  an'  I  declare  that  my 
thochts  were  no  ministerial. 

"Presently  a  wunda'  gaes  up  somewhere  in 
the  garret  stories,  an'  a  heid  pops  oot. 

"'Fa' be  you? 'it  says. 

•"I'm  the  minister  that's  to  preach  for  Mr. 


THE  PROBATIONER.  75 

Fergusson  the  morn,'  says  I, '  an'  I'll  thank  you 
to  let  me  in  oot  o'  the  rain.' 

" '  I  ken  nocht  aboot  you ! '  it  says,  and  doon 
gaed  the  wunda'. 

"Noo  I  tell  you  that  if  that  woman  hadna 
letten  me  in  at  that  time  o'  nicht  I  wad  hae  driven 
a  stane  through  the  gless,  if  they  had  had  me 
afore  the  Presbytery  for't.  But  in  a  wee  the 
door  opened  an'  the  lassie  lets  me  in. 

"She  had  just  come  from  the  Aberdeenshire 
Deeside  that  day,  and  was  as  great  a  stranger  as 
myself.  But  yince  in,  she  did  verra  weel  for  my 
comfort.  But  as  she  kenned  naething  about  the 
hours  of  worship,  I  had  to  go  awa'  doon  to  the 
toon  early  on  the  neest  mornin'  to  find  oot  when 
the  service  was.  Then  back  up  I  cam'  again  for 
the  sermons  an'  my  breakfast.  The  service  was 
at  twal,  an'  aboot  half-past  eleeven  I  was  at  the 
kirk,  an'  sittin'  waitin'  in  the  vestry  for  some- 
body to  come  to  speak  to  me,  for  I  had  spoken  to 
nobody  bena  [except]  the  servant  lass  frae  Aber- 
deen an'  the  shop  laddie  that  I  had  met  on  the 
street. 

"As  I  sat  in  the  vestry  I  could  hear  them 
flrslin  aboot  the  door,  an'  the  fowk  comin'  in,  but 
naebody  lookit  near  me  till  maybe  five  meenutes 
to  twal'.  Then  a  man  cam'  in  that  I  took  to  be  the 
precentor,  so  I  gied  him  what  I  usually  gied  to 
touu  kirks,  a  psalm,  a  paraphrase,  an'  twa  hymns. 


76  THE  8TICKIT  MINISTER. 

He  took  them,  put  on  his  glesses,  an'  lookit  at 
my  writin'  gye  scornfu'  like. 

"'  Hymns?'  he  says.  'Na,  we  sing  nae 
hymns  here — na — an'  we're  nane  sae  carin'  aboot 
paraphrases,  ney ther ! " 

"This  was  a  thocht  discouragin',  but  I  said 
that  I  would  gladly  gie  him  all  the  four  psalms, 
that  I  could  easily  find  psalms  to  suit  my  sub- 
ject. 

"  '  Ay,  an'  I  think  they  micht  hae  served  ye  too,' 
says  he. 

"  I  went  up  to  the  pulpit  and  preached,  but 
what  I  said  I  do  not  ken ;  I  had  gotten  my  sermon 
frae  the  precentor,  and  felt  just  like  a  schule-boy 
that  has  come  to  the  dominie  without  his  lesson. 
When  I  had  feenished  I  thocht  that  some  o'  the 
elders  wad  speak  to  me,  but  not  a  one  showed 
face.  I  gaed  into  the  vestry  an'  got  my  hat,  an' 
so  back  to  the  manse  on  the  Carlisle  Road. 

"  A  laddie  met  me  at  the  gate.  '  You're  the 
minister  that  preached  the  day — hae ! '  says  he. 
It  was  a  note  frae  somebody  I  didna  ken,  tellin* 
me  that  I  was  expected  to  address  the  Sabbath 
schule  that  efternune  at  three  o'clock.  So  I 
slippit  doon,  an'  farid  that  the  schule  only  gaed 
in  at  that  hour.  So  I  had  to  wait  sittin'  by  my- 
sel'  till  aboot  the  half-hour.  Then  a  man  cam* 
an'  chappit  me  on  the  shoother, '  Ye'll  hae  twunty 
meenites,'  he  says. 


THE  PROBATIONER.  77 

"'Twunty  meenites?'  says  I,  no'  seein'  his 
drift. 

"  *  Ay,'  he  says,  '  to  address  the  bairns ! ' 

"  So  I  talked  to  the  bairns  for  a  wee,  a  job  I 
aye  likit,  an'  at  the  end  I  pat  up  a  prayer  and  sat 
for  maybes  half  a  meenit  ef ter  withoot  lookin'  up. 
Wull  you  believe  me,"  said  the  probationer, "  that 
when  I  liftit  my  heid  there  wasna  a  body,  bairn, 
teacher,  or  superintendent,  in  the  place  ? 

"  So  yince  mair  gaed  I  back  alang  that  weary 
Carlisle  Road  withoot  a  word  frae  leevin'  crai- 
tur. 

" '  Heaven  do  so  to  me  an'  more  also,'  said  I  to 
mysel',  '  if  I  ever  mislippen  a  probationer  when 
yince  I'm  settled  in  the  Dowiedens ! '  Next 
mornin'  I  raise  gye  an'  early,  on'  shook  off  the 
dust  of  Elvanby  frae  my  feet  for  a  testimony 
against  an  unkindly  parish,  an'  a  minister  and 
people  that  muzzled  into  silence  the  ox  that 
treadeth  out  the  corn,  though  I  fear  that  I  gied 
them  mair  cauff  than  corn  that  day." 

"And  nae  wunner,"  said  Mrs.  MaWhurr. 

"  They  wad  just  be  blate  to  pit  themsel's  forrit, 
Tammas ! "  said  I.  "  They  wadna  like  to  speak 
to  a  strainge  minister." 

"  Strainge  minister  here,  strainge  minister  there. 
I'll  gang  nae  mair  to  yon  toon ! "  says  he.  "  They 
made  me  fine  an'  blate.  When  I'm  settled  in  the 
Dowiedens — " 


78  THE   STICKIT  MINISTER. 

«*  An'  mairrit  to  that  wifie's  dochter  that  pat 
her  airms — " 

"  Haud  yer  tongue,  man ! "  cried  my  mistress 
to  me  in  a  mainner  that  couldna  be  ca'ed  mair 
than  ceevil. 


THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING. 

«*  AND  I  further  intimate,"  said  the  minister, 
"  that  I  will  preach  this  evening  at  Cauldshaws, 
and  my  text  will  be  from  the  ninth  chapter  of 
the  book  of  Ecclesiastes  and  the  tenth  verse, 
*  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with 
thy  might.' " 

"  Save  us,"  said  Janet  MacTaggart  "  he's  clean 
forgotten  '  if  it  be  the  Lord's  wull.'  Maybe  he'll 
be  for  gaun  whether  it's  His  wull  or  no' — he's  a 
sair  masterfu'  man,  the  minister ;  but  he  comes 
frae  the  Machars,*  an'  kens  little  aboot  the  jeal- 
ous God  we  hae  among  the  hills  o'  Gallowa ' !  " 

The  minister  continued,  in  the  same  high,  level 
tone  in  which  he  did  his  preaching,  "  There  are  a 
number  of  sluggards  who  lay  the  weight  of  their 
own  laziness  on  the  Almighty,  saying,  'I  am  a 
worm  and  no  man — how  should  I  strive  with  my 

*  The  Eastern  Lowlands  of  Wigtonshire. 


THE  LAMMAS   PEEACHING.  79 

Maker,'  whenever  they  are  at  strife  with  their 
own  sluggishness.  There  will  be  a  word  for  all 
such  this  evening  at  the  farmtown  of  Cauldshaws, 
presently  occupied  by  Gilbert  M'Kissock — public 
worship  to  begin  at  seven  o'clock." 

The  congregation  of  Barnessock  Kirk  tumbled 
amicably  over  its  own  heels  with  eagerness  to  get 
into  the  kirk-yard  in  order  to  settle  the  momen- 
tous question,  "  Whose  back  was  he  on  the 
.day?" 

Robert  Kirk,  Carsethorn,  had  a  packet  of 
peppermint  lozenges  in  the  crown  of  his  "  lum  " 
hat — deponed  to  by  Elizabeth  Douglas  Barr, 
in  Barnbogrie,  whose  husband,  Weelum  Barr, 
put  on  the  hat  of  the  aforesaid  Robert  Kirk 
by  mistake  for  his  own,  whereupon  the  pepper- 
mints fell  to  the  floor  and  rolled  under  the  pews 
in  most  unseemly  fashion.  Elizabeth  Kirk  is  of 
opinion  that  this  should  be  brought  to  the 
notice  of  session,  she  herself  always  taking 
her  peppermint  while  genteelly  wiping  her  mouth 
with  the  corner  of  her  handkerchief.  Robert  Kirk, 
on  being  put  to  the  question,  admits  the  fact,  but 
says  that  it  was  his  wife  put  them  there  to  be 
near  her  hand. 

The  minister,  however,  ever  ready  with  his 
word,  brought  him  to  shame  by  saying,  "  Oh, 
Robert,  Robert,  that  was  just  what  Adam  said, 
*  The  woman  Thou  gavest  me,  she  gave  me  to 


80  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

eat ! '"  The  aforesaid  Robert  Kirk  thinks  that 
it  is  meddling  with  the  original  Hebrew  to  apply 
this  to  peppermints,  and  also  says  that  Elizabeth 
Kirk  is  an  impudent  besom,  and  furthermore  that 
as  all  the  country  well  knows —  (Here  the 
chronicler  omits  much  matter  actionable  in  the 
civil  courts  of  the  realm.) 

"  Janet,"  said  the  minister  to  his  housekeeper, 
"I  am  to  preach  to-night  at  Cauldshaws  on 
the  text,  '  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do 
it  with  thy  might.' " 

"  I  ken,"  said  Janet,  "  I  saw  it  on  yer  desk.  I 
pat  it  ablow  the  clock  for  fear  the  wun's  o'  heeven 
micht  blaw  it  awa'  like  chaff,  an'  you  couldna  do 
wantin'  it ! " 

'*  Janet  MacTaggart,"  said  the  minister,  tartly, 
u  bring  in  the  denner,  and  do  not  meddle  with 
what  does  not  concern  you." 

Janet  could  not  abide  read  sermons ;  her 
natural  woman  rose  against  them.  She  knew,  as 
she  had  said,  that  God  was  a  jealous  God,  and, 
with  regard  to  the  minister,  she  looked  upon  her- 
self as  His  vicegerent. 

"  He's  young  an'  terrable  ram-stam  an'  opeen- 
ionated — fu'  o'  buik-lear,  but  wi'  little  gracious 
experience.  For  a'  that,  the  root  o'  the  maitter  's 
in  'im,"  said  Janet,  not  unhopefully. 

"  I'm  gaun  to  preach  at  Cauldshaws,  and  my 
text's  « Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it 


THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING.  81 

with  thy  might,' "  said  the  minister  to  the  precen- 
tor that  afternoon,  on  the  manse  doorstep. 

"  The  Lord's  no'  in  a'  his  thochts.  FJ1  gang  wi1 
the  lad  mysel',"  said  the  precentor. 

Now,  Galloway  is  so  much  out  of  the  world 
that  the  Almighty  has  not  there  lifted  His  hand 
from  reward  and  punishment,  from  guiding  and 
restraining,  as  He  has  done  in  hig  towns  where 
everything  goes  by  machinery.  Man  may  say 
that  there  is  no  God  when  he  only  sees  a  hand- 
breadth  of  smoky  heaven  between  the  chimney- 
pots ;  but  out  on  the  fields  of  oats  and  bear,  and 
up  on  the  screes  of  the  hillsides,  where  the 
mother  granite  sticks  her  bleaching  ribs  through 
the  heather,  men  have  reached  great  assurance 
on  this  and  other  matters. 

The  burns  were  running  red  with  the  mighty 
July  rain  when  Douglas  Maclellan  started  over 
the  meadows  and  moors  to  preach  his  sermon  at 
the  farmtown  of  Cauldshaws.  He  had  thanked 
the  Lord  that  morning  in  his  opening  prayer  for 
"  the  bounteous  rain  wherewith  he  had  seen  meet 
to  refresh  His  weary  heritage." 

His  congregation  silently  acquiesced,  "for 
what,"  said  they,  "  could  a  man  from  the  Machars 
be  expected  to  ken  about  meadow  hay  ?  " 

When  the  minister  and  the  precentor  got  to 
the  foot  of  the  manse  loaning,  they  came  upon  the 
parish  ne'er-do-weel,  Ebie  Kirgan,  who  kept 
6 


82  THE  STICKJT  MINISTER. 

himself  in  employment  by  constantly  scratching 
his  head,  trying  to  think  of  something  to  do,  and 
whose  clothes  were  constructed  on  the  latest 
sanitary  principles  of  ventilation.  The  ruins  of 
Ebie's  hat  were  usually  tipped  over  one  eye  for 
enlarged  facilities  of  scratching  m  the  rear. 

"  If  it's  yer  wull,  minister,  I'll  come  to  hear  ye 
the  nicht.  It's  drawing  to  mair  rain,  I'm  think- 
in'  ! "  said  the  scarecrow. 

M I  hope  the  discourse  may  be  profitable  to  you, 
Ebenezer,  for,  as  I  intimated  this  morning,  I  am 
to  preach  from  the  text,  *  Whatsoever  thy  hand 
flndeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might.'  " 

"  Ay,  minister,"  said  Ebie,  relieving  his  right 
hand,  and  tipping  his  hat  over  the  other  eye  to 
give  his  left  free  play.  So  the  three  struck  over 
the  fields,  making  for  the  thorn  tree  at  the  corner, 
where  Robert  Kirk's  dike  dipped  into  the  stand- 
ing water  of  the  meadow. 

"Do  you  think  ye  can  manage  it,  Maister 
Maclellan?"  said  the  precentor.  "Ye're  wat 
half-way  up  the  leg  already." 

"  An'  there's  sax  feet  o'  black  moss  water  in  the 
Laneburn  as  sure  as  I'm  a  leevin'  sowl,"  added 
Ebie  Kirgan. 

"  I'm  to  preach  at  Cauldshaws,  and  my  text  is, 
*  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with 
thy  might ! "  said  the  minister,  stubbornly 
glooming  from  under  the  eaves  of  his  eyebrows 


THE  LAMMAS   PREACHING.  83 

as  the  swarthy  men  from  the  Machars  are  wont 
to  do.  His  companions  said  no  more.  They 
came  to  Camelon  Lane,  where  usually  Robert 
Kirk  had  a  leaping  pole  on  either  bank  to  assist 
the  traveler  across,  but  both  poles  had  gone  down 
the  water  in  the  morning  to  look  for  Robert's 
meadow  hay. 

"  Tak'  care,  Maister  Maclellan,  ye' 11  be  in  deep 
water  afore  ye  ken.  Oh,  man,  ye  had  far  better 
turn ! " 

The  precentor  stood  up  to  his  knees  in  water 
on  what  had  once  been  the  bank,  and  wrung  his 
hands.  But  the  minister  pushed  steadily  ahead 
into  the  turbid  and  sluggish  water. 

"  I  canna  come — oh,  I  canna  come,  for  I'm  a 
man  that  has  a  family." 

"It's  no'  your  work;  stay  where  ye  are,"  cried 
the  minister,  without  looking  over  his  shoulder ; 
"but  as  for  me,  I'm  intimated  to  preach  this 
night  at  Cauldshaws,  and  my  text — " 

Here  he  stepped  into  a  deep  hole,  and  his  text 
was  suddenly  shut  within  him  by  the  gurgle  of 
moss  water  in  his  throat.  His  arms  rose  above 
the  surface  like  the  black  spars  of  a  windmill. 
But  Ebie  Kirgan  sculled  himself  swiftly  out, 
swimming  with  his  shoeless  feet,  and  pushed  the 
minister  before  him  to  the  further  bank — the 
water  gushing  out  of  rents  in  his  clothes  as  easily 
as  out  of  the  gills  of  a  fish. 


84  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

The  minister  stood  with  unshaken  confidence 
on  the  bank.  He  ran  peat  water  like  a  spout  in 
a  thunder  plump,  and  black  rivulets  of  dye  were 
trickling  from  under  his  hat,  down  his  brow,  and 
dripping  from  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"  Then  you'll  not  come  any  further  ?"  he  called 
across  to  the  precentor. 

"  I  canna,  oh,  I  canna ;  though  I'm  most  awfu' 
willin'.  Kirsty  wad  never  forgie  me  gin  I  was  to 
droon." 

"  Then  I'll  e'en  have  to  raise  the  tune  myself — 
though  three  times  '  Kilmarnock '  is  a  pity,"  said 
the  minister,  turning  on  his  heel  and  striding 
away  through  the  shallow  sea,  splashing  the 
water  as  high  as  his  head  with  a  kind  of  head- 
strong glee  which  seemed  to  the  precentor  a 
direct  defiance  of  Providence.  Ebie  Kirgan  fol- 
lowed half  a  dozen  steps  behind.  The  support  of 
the  precentor's  lay  semi-equality  taken  from  him, 
he  began  to  regret  that  he  had  come,  and  silently 
and  ruefully  plunged  along  after  the  minister 
through  the  water-logged  meadows.  They  came 
in  time  to  the  foot  of  Robert  Kirk's  march  dike, 
and  skirted  it  a  hundred  yards  upward  to  avoid 
the  deep  pool  in  which  the  Laneburn  waters  were 
swirling.  The  minister  climbed  silently  up  the 
seven-foot  dike,  pausing  a  second  on  the  top  to 
balance  himself  for  his  leap  to  the  other  side.  As 
he  did  so,  Ebie  Kirgan  saw  that  the  dike  was 


THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING.  85 

swaying  to  the  fall,  having  been  weakened  by  the 
rush  of  water  on  the  further  side.  He  rushed 
instantly  at  the  minister,  and  gave  him  a  push 
with  both  hands  which  caused  Mr.  Maclellan  to 
alight  on  his  feet  clear  of  the  falling  stones.  The 
dike  did  not  so  much  fall  outward  as  settle  down 
on  its  own  ruins.  Ebie  fell  on  his  face  among 
the  stones  with  the  impetus  of  his  own  eagerness. 
He  arose,  however,  quickly — only  limping  slightly 
from  what  he  called  a  "  bit  chack  "  (nip)  on  the 
leg  between  two  stones. 

"  That  was  a  merciful  Providence,  Ebenezer," 
said  the  minister,  solemnly ;  "  I  hope  you  are  duly 
thankful ! " 

"Dod,  I  am  that !  "  replied  Ebie,  scratching  his 
head  vigorously  with  his  right  hand  and  rubbing 
his  leg  with  his  left.  "  Gin  I  hadna  gi'en  ye  that 
dunch,  ye  micht  hae  preachen  nane  at  Cauld- 
shaws  this  nicht." 

They  now  crossed  a  fairly  level  clover  field, 
dank  and  laid  with  wet.  The  scent  of  the  clover 
rose  to  their  nostrils  with  almost  overpowering 
force.  There  was  not  a  breath  of  air.  The  sky 
was  blue  and  the  sun  shining.  Only  a  sullen  roar 
came  over  the  hill,  sounding  in  the  silence  like 
the  rush  of  a  train  over  a  far-away  viaduct. 

"  "What  is  that  ?  "  queried  the  minister,  stop- 
ping to  listen. 

Ebie  took  a  brisk  sidelong  look  at  him. 


86  THE  STIOKIT  MINISTER. 

"  I'm  some  dootsome  that'll  be  the  Skyreburn 
coming  doon  off  o'  Cairnsmuir !  " 

The  minister  tramped  unconcernedly  on.  Ebie 
Kirgan  stared  at  him. 

"  He  canna  ken  what  a  '  Skyreburn  warnin '  is 
— he'll  be  thinkin'  it's  some  bit  Machar's  burn 
that  the  laddies  set  their  whurlie  mills  in.  But 
he'll  turn  richt  eneuch  when  he  sees  Skyreburn 
roarin'  reed  in  a  Lammas  flood,  I'm  thinkin' ! " 

They  took  their  way  over  the  shoulder  of  the 
hill  in  the  beautiful  evening,  leaning  eagerly  for- 
ward to  get  the  first  glimpse  of  the  cause  of  that 
deep  and  resonant  roar.  In  a  moment  they  saw 
below  them  a  narrow,  rock- walled  gully,  ten  or 
fifteen  yards  across,  filled  to  the  brim  with  rush- 
ing water.  It  was  not  black  peat  water  like  the 
Camelon  Lane,  but  it  ran  red  as  keel,  flecked  now 
and  then  with  a  revolving  white  blur  as  one  of 
the  Cauldshaws  sheep  spun  downward  to  the  sea, 
with  four  black  feet  turned  pitifully  up  to  the 
blue  sky. 

Ebie  looked  at  the  minister.  "  He'll  turn  noo 
if  he's  mortal,"  he  said.  But  the  minister  held  on. 
He  looked  at  the  water  up  and  down  the  roaring 
stream.  On  a  hill  above,  the  farmer  of  Cauld- 
shaws, having  driven  all  his  remaining  sheep 
together,  sat  down  to  watch.  Seeing  the  minister, 
he  stood  up  and  excitedly  waved  him  back.  But 
Douglas  Maclellan  from  the  Machars  never  gave 


THE   LAMMAS  PKEACHING.  87 

him  a  look,  and  his  shouting  was  of  less  effect 
than  if  he  had  been  crying  to  an  untrained  colly. 

The  minister  looked  long  up  the  stream,  and  at 
a  point  where  the  rocks  came  very  close  together, 
and  many  stunted  pines  were  growing,  he  saw 
one  which,  having  stood  on  the  immediate  brink, 
had  been  so  much  undercut  that  it  leaned  over 
the  gully  like  a  fishing-rod.  With  a  keen  glance 
along  its  length,  the  minister,  jamming  his  drip- 
ping soft  felt  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  was 
setting  foot  on  the  perilous  slope  of  the  uneven 
red-brown  trunk,  when  Kirgan  caught  him  sharply 
by  the  arm. 

"It's  no'  for  me  to  speak  to  a  minister  at 
ordinar'  times,"  he  stammered,  gathering  courage 
in  his  desperation ;  "  but,  oh,  man,  it's  fair  mur- 
der to  try  to  gang  ower  that  water ! " 

The  minister  wrenched  himself  free,  and  sprung 
along  the  trunk  with  wonderful  agility. 

"  I'm  intimated  to  preach  at  Cauldshaws  this 
night,  and  my  text  is,  'Whatsover  thy  hand 
findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might ! '  "  he  shouted. 

He  made  his  way  up  and  up  the  slope  of  the 
fir-tree,  which,  having  little  grip  of  the  rock, 
dipped  and  swayed  under  his  tread.  Ebie  Kir- 
gan fell  on  his  knees  and  prayed  aloud.  He  had 
not  prayed  since  his  step-mother  boxed  his  ears 
for  getting  into  bed  without  saying  his  prayers 
twenty  years  ago.  This  had  set  him  against  it. 


88  THE   STICKIT  MINISTER. 

But  he  prayed  now,  and  to  infinitely  more  pur- 
pose than  his  minister  had  recently  done.  But 
when  the  climber  had  reached  the  branchy  top, 
and  was  striving  to  get  a  few  feet  further,  in 
order  to  clear  the  surging  linn  before  he  made 
his  spring,  Ebie  rose  to  his  feet,  leaving  his  prayer 
unfinished.  He  sent  forth  an  almost  animal 
shriek  of  terror.  The  tree  roots  cracked  like 
breaking  cables,  and  slowly  gave  way,  an  ava- 
lanche of  stones  plumped  into  the  whirl,  and  the 
top  of  the  fir  crashed  downward  on  the  rocks  of 
the  opposite  bank. 

"  Oh,  man,  call  on  the  name  of  the  Lord !  "  cried 
Ebie  Kirgan,  the  ragged  preacher,  at  the  top  of 
his  voice. 

Tuen  he  saw  something  detach  itself  from  the 
tree  as  it  rebounded,  and  for  a  moment  rise 
and  fall  black  against  the  sunset.  Then  Ebie  the 
Outcast  fell  on  his  face  like  a  dead  man. 


In  the  white  coverleted  "  room  "  of  the  farm- 
town  of  Cauldshaws,  a  white-faced  lad  lay  with 
his  eyes  closed,  and  a  wet  cloth  on  his  brow.  A 
large-boned,  red-cheeked,  motherly  woman  stole 
to  and  fro  with  a  foot  as  light  as  a  fairy.  The 
sleeper  stirred  and  tried  to  lift  an  unavailing 
hand  to  his  head.  The  mistress  of  Cauldshaws 
stole  to  his  bedside  as  he  opened  his  eyes.  She 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSO.N.  89 

laid  a  restraining  hand  on  him  as  he  strove  to 
rise. 

"  Let  me  up,"  said  the  minister ;  "  I  must  away, 
for  I'm  intimated  to  preach  at  Cauldshaws,  and 
my  text  is,  '  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do, 
do  it  with  thy  might.'  " 

"  My  bonny  man,"  said  the  good  wife,  tenderly, 
"  you'll  preach  best  on  the  broad  o'  yer  back  this 
mony  a  day,  an'  when  ye  rise,  your  best  text  will 
be,  '  He  sent  from  above,  He  took  me,  and  drew 
me  out  of  many  waters ! ' " 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON, 
SCHOOLMASTER, 

SOMETIME  MINISTER  OF  THE  PARISH  OF  SHAWS  :    DE- 
POSED FOR  DRUNKENNESS. 

J_)UNCAN  DUNCANSON,  parochial  schoolmaster  in 
the  parish  of  Nether  Dullarg,  stood  at  the  door  of 
his  schoolhouse,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand. 
He  looked  down  the  road  and  up  the  road,  but  no 
one  was  in  sight.  Not  a  leaf  moved  that  breath- 
less July  morning.  It  was  yet  too  early  for  the 
scholars  to  come,  and  indeed  being  high  haytime, 
the  dominie  did  not  expect  a  large  attendance. 
He  was  not  watching  the  stray  colly  puppy  which 


90  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

made  noisy  demonstrations  against  the  blue  bot- 
tles near  the  waterspout  at  the  foot  of  the  play- 
ground. He  was  looking  out  for  a  tall  girl  carry- 
ing  a  black  bag.  To  his  mind  she  had  delayed  too 
long,  and  he  was  muttering  what  seemed  by  the 
gruff  tones  to  be  threats,  but  which  was  in  reality 
something  much  milder. 

"  Never  was  there  sic  a  lassie ;  she  canna  even 
come  straight  back  from  the  heid  o'  the  street ! " 
he  said,  complainingly.  "  There's  no'  a  dowg  in 
the  Dullarg  but  she  maun  clap,  an'  no'  a  pussy 
sleepiri'  in  the  sun  but  she  maun  cross  the  road  to 
stroke.  She  gets  hersel'  fair  covered  wi'  dirt 
playin'  wi'  the  laddies ;  she'll  even  set  doon  the 
black  bag  to  play  for  keeps  wi'  the  boys  at  the 
bools,  an'  her  comin'  on  for  fifteen." 

He  sighed  as  though  this  were  a  deep  grief  to 
him,  and  a  tear  stood,  with  a  kind  of  melancholy 
entirely  unsuited  to  the  slightness  of  the  occasion, 
in  his  unsteady  eye  of  watery  blue.  But  it  was 
not  at  all  the  shortcomings  of  the  "lassie"  that 
filled  his  heart.  He  kept  muttering  under  his 
breath : 

"If  my  Flora  had  but  had  her  ain — shame  to 
you,  Duncan  Duncanson,  shame  to  you,  shame  to 
you,  she  micht  hae  been  a  dochter  o'  the  manse." 

Suddenly  there  was  a  glint  of  sunshine  in  a 
shady  place  among  the  trees  at  the  foot  of  the 
inclined  slope  of  beaten  earth  which  was  called  the 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON.  91 

play-ground.  So  steep  was  it,  that  when  a  scholar 
fell  anywhere  upon  it  he  rolled  over  and  over  till 
brought  up  by  the  dike.  A  tall  girl  came  up  the 
steps  with  a  hop,  skip  and  jump,  took  the  dominie 
round  the  neck  in  a  discomposing  manner,  swung 
him  on  his  heels  as  on  a  pivot,  and  pushed  him 
into  the  school. 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  that's  the  last  time  that  I 
gang  for  your  bag.  I  wonder  that  you  are  not 
ashamed  to  sen'  your  daughter  to  the  public-hoose 
for  a  black  bag  that  every  bairn  kens  what's  in, 
every  Tuesday  and  Friday,  an'  you  the  maister ! " 

Duncan  Duncanson  stood  knitting  his  broad, 
smooth  brow,  and  clasping  and  unclasping  his 
hands  nervously.  But  he  said  nothing.  His 
attention  was  irresolutely  divided  between  his 
daughter,  who  stood  before  him  with  arms  akimbo, 
the  image  of  a  petty  tyrant,  and  the  black  bag 
which  more  and  more  strongly  drew  his  gaze. 
"  I'll  slip  ower,"  he  said,  "  an'  see  gin  there's  a 
big  eneuch  coal  on  the  fire  to  keep  it  in."  So, 
taking  the  black  bag  in  his  hand,  he  went  out  like 
a  chidden  child  glad  to  escape  from  observation. 
The  girl  maintained  her  dignified  position  till  he 
was  out  of  sight,  then  threw  herself  down  on  the 
hacked  and  ink-stained  desk  and  cried  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

"  Oh,  my  faither,  my  faither,"  she  sobbed,  "an* 
him  yince  a  minister !  " 


92  THE  STICKIT  MINISTEB. 

When  the  dominie  returned,  with  a  flush  on  his 
cheek  which  slowly  ebbed  away,  he  found  his  girl 
in  the  midst  of  a  riotous  game  of  "  steal  the  bon- 
nets," which  was  only  played  at  by  the  aristocrats 
of  the  school.  Flora  Duncanson  was  easily  em- 
press both  in  the  schoolhouse  and  in  the  school  of 
the  Nether  Dullarg ;  and  except  when  her  father 
took  one  of  his  occasional  turns  of  wild  and  un- 
governable temper  after  too  close  devotion  to  the 
black  bag  which  he  had  returned  from  locking  in 
its  skeleton  cupboard,  she  was  also  the  mistress 
of  the  master. 

Every  one  in  Nether  Dullarg  know  the  history 
of  Duncan  Duncanson.  He  had  taught  nearly  all 
the  younger  portion  of  them,  for  it  was  many 
years  since  he  was  appointed  parish  teacher  in 
Nether  Dullarg,  long  before  Mr.  Pitbye  came  to  be 
minister.  Duncan  Duncanson  was  college  bred. 
More  than  that,  he  had  been  a  minister,  and  no 
**  Stickit "  minister  either,  but  duly  licensed,  or- 
dained, and  inducted — also,  alas !  deposed.  There 
had  been  a  black  bag  even  in  those  early  days,  as 
Duncan  Duncanson  knew  to  his  cost.  His  had 
been  the  good  seed  sown  among  the  abundance  of 
thorns.  These  two,  thorns  and  wheat,  grew  up 
together  into  a  deadly  crop,  and  together  were  cut 
down  in  that  terrible  day  of  reckoning  when  the 
presbytery  of  Pitscottie  solemnly  deposed  Duncan 
Duncanson,  sometime  minister  of  the  parish  of 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON.  93 

Shaws,  from  the  office  of  the  ministry  of  the  Kirk 
of  Scotland. 

Then  the  presbytery  of  that  day  adjourned  to 
the  Gorden  Arms  to  wash  down  their  presbyterial 
dinner  with  plentiful  jorums  of  toddy,  and  Duncan 
Duncanson  sat  for  the  last  time  in  his  study  in 
the  manse  of  the  Shaws,  sipping  and  filling  the 
demon  bottle  which  he  carried  like  a  familiar  spirit 
in  his  black  bag.  This  was  his  Day  of  Judgment ; 
and  the  hopes  of  his  youth,  the  aspirations  of  his 
middle  life,  the  forecasts  of  a  quiet  age  were  all 
consumed  in  the  flaming  wrath  of  it.  This  was 
all  because  the  Reverend  Duncan  Duncanson  had 
fallen  down  one  Sabbath  day  at  the  front  door  of 
the  Shaws  manse.  There  were  those  in  the  pres. 
bytery  who  had  often  fallen  down  at  their  back 
doors,  but  then  this  made  a  great  difference,  and 
they  all  prayed  fervently  for  the  great  sinner  and 
backslider  who  had  slidden  at  his  front  door  in 
the  sight  of  men.  The  moderator,  who  in  the 
presbytery  had  called  Duncan  everything  that  he 
could  lay  his  tongue  to,  reflected  as  he  drove  home 
that  he  had  let  him  off  far  too  easily.  Then  he 
stooped  down  and  felt  in  the  box  of  his  gig  if  the 
two-gallon  "  gray  beard  "  from  the  Gordon  Arms 
were  sitting  safely  on  its  own  bottom.  So  much 
responsibility  made  him  nervous  on  a  rough 
road. 

Duncan  Duncanson,  no  longer  Reverend,  at  once 


94  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

returned  to  his  native  village  to  the  house  of  his 
father  and  mother,  the  daily  cause  and  witness  of 
their  gray  hairs  whitening  to  the  winter  of  the 
grave.  They  had  a  little  house  of  their  own,  and 
it  had  not  taken  all  their  slender  store  to  put  their 
lad  through  college ;  for,  save  in  the  matter  of  the 
black  bag  and  its  inmate,  Duncan  Duncanson  was 
neither  spendthrift  nor  prodigal.  Before  he  left 
the  Shaws  he  was  to  have  been  married  to  the 
daughter  of  the  neighboring  minister,  but  in  the 
wild  upheaval  of  that  earthquake  shock  she  obe- 
diently gave  Duncan  up  as  soon  as  the  parish  had 
given  him  up,  and  in  time  married  a  wealthy 
farmer  who  did  not  come  sober  home  from  market 
for  twenty  years. 

In  his  own  village  Duncan  was  looked  upon 
with  an  odd  of  kind  respect.  He  was  thought  to 
have  been  led  astray,  though  this  was  not  the  case 
— the  devil,  together  with  the  weak  chin  and  un- 
stable eye,  having  been  leading  enough.  He  was 
looked  on  as  "byordnar'  clever,"  a  dungeon  o' 
learnin'."  So,  after  some  years,  when  the  paro- 
chial school  fell  vacant,  the  minister  who  had 
baptized  him,  and  who  had  helped  him  lamely 
with  his  rusty  scraps  of  Latin  and  Greek  (Latin 
as  far  as  "  Omnis  Gallia" — Greek,  the  alphabet 
merely),  put  Duncan  into  the  school,  sure  that  he 
would  teach  the  children  well  and  conscientiously, 
and  hopeful  that  he  might  ultimately  be  led  to 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON.  95 

reform  ;  for  ministers  are  sanguine  men,  at  least 
all  who  do  any  good  among  other  men. 

And  the  new  schoolmaster  had  indeed  done  his 
duty,  though  with  abundance  of  the  rod  and  some 
detriment  to  his  own  temper  and  the  cuticle  of 
his  pupils.  But  no  such  scholars  went  up  from 
three  counties  as  those  who  matriculated  straight 
from  the  hedge  school  of  the  parish  of  Dullarg 
during  the  reign  of  the  deposed  minister  of  the 
Shaws.  By  and  by  Duncan  picked  up  other  little 
bits  of  patronage — the  precentorship,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  the  inspectorship  of  poor,  and  ulti- 
mately the  registrarship  of  births,  deaths,  and 
marriages.  In  the  Dullarg  it  is  a  saying  that  we 
"  keep  oor  ain  fish-guts  for  oor  ain  sea-maws." 
This  is  not  an  expression  common  in  the  higher 
circles,  but  the  thing  itself  is  common  enough 
there.  Duncan  married  a  village  girl,  who  had 
made  him  a  good  wife  during  her  short  life,  but 
had  not  been  able  to  master  the  bottle  imp.  She 
had  left  him  one  daughter,  our  imperious  beauty 
of  the  yellow  locks. 

But  we  have  gone  afield  from  our  school.  The 
whole  building,  a  long  narrow  barn,  built  of  rough 
ashlar  work,  with  many  small  windows,  never 
all  whole  at  once,  was  sleepily  droning  with  the 
morning  lessons.  Flora  Duncanson,  within  a 
yard  of  her  father,  was  making  paper  arrows  to 
throw  at  Andrew  Tait,  the  son  of  the  wealthy 


96  THE   8TICKJT  MINISTER. 

farmer  who  had  married  Duncan  Duncanson's 
old  sweetheart.  Andrew  was  a  long- limbed  lad, 
known  as  "  the  fathom  o'  pump  water."  He  was 
shy  and  thoughtful,  prone  to  moon  in  corners,  a 
lad  in  whom  could  be  perceived  no  tincture  of 
the  bucolic  clumsiness  of  the  one  parent  or  the 
faded  and  selfish  gentility  of  the  other.  He 
liked  to  be  teased  by  Flora  Duncanson,  for  it  gave 
him  an  opportunity  of  looking  at  her  hair.  He 
had  never  heard  of  Rossetti,  but  he  said  in  his 
heart,  "  Her  hair  that  lay  along  her  back  was 
yellow  like  ripe  corn ! " 

The  ex-minister  sat  at  his  high  desk,  and  the 
hum  of  the  school  acted  soothingly  upon  his  un- 
steady nerves.  A  vision  began  to  assert  itself  of 
something  that  he  knew  to  be  on  one  shelf  of  his 
private  cupboard  in  the  little  dominie's  house 
adjoining  the  school.  Without  a  word  he  rose 
and  stepped  out.  Before  he  could  get  round  the 
school,  Flora  was  out  and  after  him.  Thereupon 
the  school  resolved  itself  into  a  pandemonium, 
and  Andrew,  the  smith,  shoeing  his  horses  in  the 
old  "  smiddy  "  at  the  foot  of  the  lane,  said  to  his 
apprentice,  "The  dominie'll  be  oot  to  wat  his 
thrapple.  Oor  Wull  will  be  keepin'  the  schule  the 
the  noo ! "  "  Wull "  was  a  good-natured,  clever 
elder  boy  who  was  supposed  to  take  charge  of 
the  school  in  the  absence  of  the  dominie.  This 
he  did  usually  by  stopping  the  promiscuous  fight- 


THE  TRAGEDY  OP  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON.  97 

ing  and  scuffling  which  went  on  all  round  the 
school  and  organizing  a  stated  and  official  combat 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor  between  a  pair  of  well- 
matched  urchins.  "  Let  all  things  be  done  de- 
cently and  in  order  "  was  Wull's  motto. 

In  the  height  of  the  turmoil,  a  great  brown  head 
presented  itself  at  the  door.  It  was  the  head  of 
big  red  "  Trusty,"  the  half-colly,  half-St.  Bernard, 
which  sometimes  accompanied  Andrew  Tait  to 
the  school,  and  played  about  outside  till  that 
youth  got  free  of  his  bondage,  when  the  pair  went 
joyously  homeward. 

No  sooner  was  he  spied  than  fifty  voices  invited 
him  to  enter.  He  came  in,  nothing  loath,  and 
crouched  beneath  the  desk  which  stood  against  the 
wall  by  the  window  where  sat  his  master  with  some 
bosom  cronies.  There  he  was  lying  concealed  by 
a  rampart  of  legs  and  slates  when  the  master  en- 
tered with  an  angry  frown  on  his  brow  and  his 
hat  jammed  over  his  forehead  in  a  way  that 
boded  no  good  to  the  school.  "  It's  gaun  to  be  a 
lickin'  day,"  said  Andrew  Tait,  with  an  air  of 
grim  foreboding.  All  was  quiet  in  a  moment,  for 
the  fear  of  Duncan  Duncanson  with  the  black 
dog  on  his  back  was  heavy  on  every  young  heart. 
Duncan  was  a  good  and  a  kindly  man,  and  would 
go  anywhere  to  help  a  neighbor  in  trouble,  but 
he  was  undoubtedly  savage  in  his  cups.  The 
imp  of  the  black  bag  was  in  possession. 
7 


98  THE  STICKJT  MINISTER. 

The  boys  trembled,  but  the  great  red  dog  lay 
quiet  as  a  pussy,  with  his  immense,  faithful  head 
pillowed  on  his  master's  knees.  The  dominie 
went  to  his  desk,  and  as  nothing  seemed  to  come 
of  his  ill-humor,  the  school  gradually  returned  to 
its  condition  of  lazy  inattention.  Fred  Graham, 
the  boy  next  to  Andrew  Tait,  whispered :  "  Let 
me  stroke  the  doggie's  held." 

"  What'll  ye  gie's  ?  "  promptly  replied  Andrew, 
with  the  truly  boyish  commercial  spirit. 

"  A  peerie,"  said  his  friend. 

"  An'  the  string  ? "  added  Andrew,  who  had  a 
corner  in  dogs  and  could  force  the  market.  So 
for  five  minutes  the  big  head  was  transferred  to 
Fred  Graham's  knee,  and  the  stroking  performed 
to  the  satisfaction  of  all  parties.  Then  the  next 
chance  had  been  for  some  time  disposed  of  to 
young  Sanny  M'Quhirr  of  Drumquhat,  who,  be- 
ing a  farmer's  son,  never  would  have  thought  of 
stroking  a  dog  save  in  school,  for  the  laudable 
purpose  of  killing  time  and  doing  what  was  for- 
bidden. 

School  currency  was  changing  hands  and  find- 
ing its  way  into  Andrew  Tait's  pockets  at  a  great 
rate.  The  various  claimants  for  next  turn  were 
so  clamorous  that  they  created  some  little  dis- 
turbance, so  that  the  master,  seeing  a  cluster  of 
heads  together,  noiselessly  opened  the  lid  of  his 
desk  and  sent  the  "taws"  whirling  down  into 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF   DUNCAN   DUNCANSUJST.     99 

their  midst  with  hearty  good-will.  They  took 
Fred  Graham  round  the  neck,  and  he  at  once 
rose  to  receive  his  "  pawmies,"  the  price  of  his 
general  amusements.  He  had  not  been  the  guilty 
person,  but  he  hardly  denied  it,  even  pro  formd, 
so  accustomed  were  they  in  that  school  to  the 
Spartan  code  that  the  sin  lay  not  in  the  action, 
but  in  the  stupidity  of  being  found  out. 

Through  the  gap  formed  by  the  absence  of 
Fred  on  his  melancholy  errand,  a  gap  like  that 
made  by  the  drawing  of  a  tooth,  the  master  saw 
the  orange  skin  and  solemn  eyes  of  "  Trusty 
Tait,"  boys'  dog  to  the  parish  school  of  Nether 
Dullarg. 

His  wrath  turned  instantly  on  Trusty  and  his 
owner,  and  his  resentment  burned  with  a  sullen, 
exaggerated  fury.  He  imagined  that  the  animal 
had  been  brought  into  the  school  in  order  directly 
to  insult  him. 

"  Who  brought  that  dog  in  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Please,  sir,  he  just  cam',"  said  Andrew  Tait. 

"  Put  him  out  instantly  !  "  he  commanded. 

"  Please,  sir,  he'll  no'  gang." 

The  dominie  then  went  for  the  poker  and  ap- 
proached the  big  dog,  whose  eyes  began  to  shine 
with  a  yellow  light  curiously  different  from  that 
which  had  been  in  them  when  the  boys  were 
stroking  his  shaggy  coat.  But  he  lay  motionless 
as  though  cut  in  stone,  nothing  living  about  him 


100  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

except  these  slumberous  eyes  with  the  red  spark 
flaming  at  the  bottom  of  them.  His  great  t?il 
lay  along  the  floor  of  the  thickness  of  a  boy's 
arm,  with  which  it  was  his  wont  to  beat  the  floor 
as  a  thresher  beats  his  sheaves  at  the  approach 
of  his  master.  "  Trusty  Tait's  "  dignity  lay  hi 
his  tail.  His  tenderest  feelings  had  their  abode 
there.  By  means  of  it  he  communicated  his  sen- 
timents, belligerent  or  amicable.  When  his 
master  appeared  in  the  distance,  he  wagged  it 
ponderously  ;  when  a  canine  friend  hove  in  sight, 
it  waved  triumphantly ;  at  the  sight  of  a  gypsy 
or  a  tramp,  it  grew  oratory  with  the  expressive- 
ness of  its  resentment.  As  the  dominie  ap- 
proached with  his  weapon  of  warfare,  Andrew 
Tait  drew  the  iron  shod  of  his  clog,  which  he 
would  have  called  his  "  cakkar,"  across  Trusty's 
tail.  The  dog  instantly  half  rose  on  his  fore- 
paws,  showing  a  seam  of  teeth  like  a  row  of 
danger-signals,  and  gave  vent  to  a  thunderous 
subterranean  growl,  which  so  intimidated  the 
master  that  he  turned  his  anger  on  the  victim 
who  promised  less  resistance.  He  dragged 
Andrew  Tait  by  the  collar  of  his  jacket  into  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  and,  forgetting  in  his  be- 
clouded condition  what  he  held  in  his  hand,  he 
struck  him  once  across  the  head  with  the  heavy 
iron  poker,  stretching  him  senseless  on  the 
ground.  The  whole  school  rose  to  its  feet  with 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON.  101 

a  dull,  confused  moan  of  horror,  but  before  any 
one  could  move,  Trusty  had  the  dominie  by  the 
throat,  threw  him  backward  over  a  form,  and 
now  stood  guard,  growling  with  short,  blood- 
curdling snorts  over  the  prostrate  body  of  his 
young  master.  Through  the  open  door  Flora 
Dun  can  son  came  flying,  for  the  noise  had  told 
her  even  in  the  cottage  that  something  unusual 
was  happening. 

"  Go  home  at  once ! "  she  called  to  the  chil- 
dren ;  and  though  there  were  many  there  older 
than  she,  without  a  murmur  they  filed  outside — 
remaining,  however,  in  whispering,  awe-struck 
groups  at  the  foot  of  the  play-ground. 

"  Go  home,  father,  this  moment ! "  she  said  to 
her  father,  who  had  gathered  himself  together, 
and  now  stood  shaking  and  uncertain  like  one 
awakened  from  a  dream,  groping  stupidly  with 
his  hands.  The  old  man  turned  and  went  heavily 
away  at  his  daughter's  word.  He  even  thought 
of  asking  her  for  the  key  of  the  cupboard,  the 
strife  for  the  possession  of  which  had  been  the 
beginning  of  his  black  humor ;  but  a  moment's 
thought  convinced  him  of  the  hopelessness  of  the 
request.  "  But  I  would  be  muckle  the  better  o't," 
he  said,  and  sighed — perhaps  for  a  moment  con- 
scious how  much  the  worse  he  had  been  of  it. 

Flora  Duncanson  stood  over  the  senseless  body 
of  Andrew  Tait.  Trusty  was  licking  his  face. 


102  THE  8TICKIT  MINISTEB. 

A  thin  streak  of  blood  stole  from  under  the  hair 
and  down  the  brow.  The  dog  growled  as  the 
girl  approached,  but  ultimately  allowed  her  to 
come  to  the  lad's  side. 

"  Oh,  Andra,  Andra ! "  she  said,  the  salt  water 
running  silently  down  her  cheeks. 

The  boy  slowly  opened  his  eyes,  looked  at  the 
dog  once  more,  and  then  fixedly  at  Flora  Dun- 
canson.  He  always  liked  to  look  at  her  hair,  but 
he  had  never  noticed  till  now  how  beautiful  her 
eyes  were.  He  could  not  think  what  it  was  they 
reminded  him  of — something  he  had  seen  hi  a 
dream,  he  thought. 

"Dinna  greet,  Flora,"  he  said;  "I'll  tell  my 
faither  that  I  fell,  an'  I'll  lick  ony  boy  in  the 
schule  that  says  I  didna!  Oh,  Flora,  but  yer  een 
are  terrible  bonny ! " 

******* 

This  is  all  a  very  old  story  in  the  Dullarg  now, 
and  Trusty  is  a  Nestor  among  dogs.  He  spends 
all  his  fine  afternoons  on  a  broomy  knowe  by 
himself,  for  what  with  puppies  and  bairns  the 
farm  is  not  the  quiet  place  that  it  used  to  be 
when  he  was  young.  Trusty  overlooks  a  wide 
prospect  were  his  faithful  dim  eyes  able  to  see, 
but  as  it  is,  he  devotes  himself  chiefly  to  the  flies 
which  settle  upon  his  nose.  Over  there  on  the 
slope  glimmer  in  the  haze  the  white  stones  in  the 
churchyard.  Trusty  never  was  much  of  a 


DAVID  OLIPHANT.  103 

scholar,  iii  spite  of  so  long  frequenting  the  village 
academy,  but  had  he  been  able  to  read,  he  might 
have  found  this  inscription  on  a  granite  tomb- 
stone down  in  the  old  kirk-yard  by  the  Des 
water : — 

SACKED  TO  THE  MEMORY 
OF 

DUNCAN  DUNCANSON, 

AGED  71  YEARS,  SOMETIME 

MINISTER  OP  THE  PARISH  OF  SHAW8, 

FOB  THIRTY  YEABS  SCHOOLMASTER  IN  THIS  PABISH. 

ERECTED  BY  HIS  AFFECTIONATE  CHILDREN, 

ANDREW  AND  FLORA  TAIT. 

"TO  WHOM  LITTLE  IS  FORGIVEN,  THE  SAME 

LOVETH  LITTLE." 


WHY    DAVID    OLIPHANT    REMAINED    A 
PRESBYTERIAN. 

"Now,  Mr.  Oliphant,  can  you  conceive  any 
reason,  except  national  prejudice,  to  which  I  am 
sure  you  are  superior,  why  you  should  not  be 
with  us  in  the  Church?  It  is,  as  you  know,  quite 
time  that  you  made  up  your  mind.  It  is,  indeed, 


101  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

solely  with  the  hope  of  assisting  you  to  a  decis- 
ion that  I  have  desired  to  see  you  now." 

An  urbanely  dignified  clergyman  is  speaking  to 
a  young  man  in  an  Oxford  Common  Room. 

"I  am  very  sensible  of  your  lordship's  con- 
descension," replied  David  Oliphant,  late  scholar 
of  St.  Magnus,  to  the  Right  Reverend  the  Bishop 
of  Alchester. 

That  learned  and  liberal  prelate  was  to  preach 
before  the  University  on  the  following  day,  and 
in  the  meantime  he  was  endeavoring  to  serve  his 
Church  by  attracting  to  her  bosom,  that  refuge 
at  once  so  inclusive  and  so  exclusive,  another  of 
those  brilliant  young  Northmen  who  have  given 
to  St.  Magnus  its  primacy  among  Oxford  colleges, 
and  from  whose  number  the  Anglican  Church 
has  obtained  many  of  her  finest  scholars  and  her 
wisest  prelates. 

The  bishop's  main  question  David  Oliphant  did 
not  answer  immediately,  for  many  strange  things 
were  working  within  him.  His  certain  desire 
was  to  do  the  work  of  the  Christ.  So  much  was 
clear  to  him — but  how  and  where  ?  The  answer 
was  not  so  definite.  His  college  friends  were 
entering  the  Church  by  troops.  They  were  as 
earnest  and  hopeful  as  he — they  looked  forward 
to  beginning  their  work  at  once.  They  seemed 
beckoning  him  to  come  along  with  them  into  their 
mother-church,  at  whose  door  stood  the  amiable 


DAVID  OLIPHANT.  105 

and  comfortable  Bishop  of  Alchester,  with  hands 
outstretched  in  welcome.  And  then  before  David 
Oliphant  there  rose  up  the  vision  of  his  own  rug- 
ged Cameronian  kirk — like  Nature,  a  stern  but 
not  unkindly  foster-mother.  He  thought  of  the 
four  slow  years  of  strictest  theological  training 
which  awaited  him  if  he  returned  to  the  North — 
four  years  for  the  scholar  of  St.  Magnus  equally 
with  the  rudest  country  lad  who  had  stumbled 
through  tlie  requisite  sessions  in  arts.  Small 
wonder  that  he  wavered,  dividing  the  swift  mind, 
or  that  the  bishop  waited  his  decision  with  the 
smile  of  successful  persuasion  in  his  shrewd  and 
kindly  eyes. 

"  We  need  such  men  as  you,  Mr.  Oliphant,"  he 
said  ;  "  with  your  parts  and — ah — your  other 
advantages  you  may  go  very  far." 

They  say  that  before  the  mind  of  the  drowning, 
the  past  defiles  in  a  panorama  of  inconceivable 
rapidity.  David  Oliphant  had  almost  made  up 
his  mind  to  follow  what  seemed  his  manifest  des- 
tiny, when  certain  visions  of  a  time  long  past 
rose  up  before  him,  stood  a  moment  clear,  and 
then  vanished,  even  before  the  gray  eyes  of  his 
Grace  of  Alchester  had  lost  their  expectant  smile. 
How  swiftly  they  came  and  went,  it  is  hard  to 
give  an  idea  of.  They  take  so  long  to  tell,  so 
unwillingly  do  words  carry  pictures. 

These  are  the  things  which  came  to  David 


106  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

Oliphant,  in  clear  and  solemn  vision,  during  the 
five  minutes  ere  he  answered  the  Bishop  of  Al- 

chester. 

*         *          *         #          *          *         * 

He  saw  aa  old  gray-headed  man,  who  worshiped, 
leaning  upon  the  top  of  his  staff,  in  a  sheltered 
nook  behind  a  low  whitewashed  Galloway  farm- 
house. He  held  his  broad  bonnet  in  his  hands, 
and  the  wind  blew  a  stray  lock  over  a  brow  like 
a  weather-beaten  cliff.  His  lips  moved,  but  there 
was  no  sound.  A  little  lad  of  five  came  pattering 
up  the  foot- worn  path  which  led  to  the  private 
oratory  of  the  family  high  priest.  He  had  asked 
hurriedly  of  the  general  public  of  the  kitchen, 
"  What  gate  did  G'appagae?"  but  without  wait- 
ing for  the  superfluous  answer,  he  trotted  along 
that  well-known  path  that  "  G'appa  "  always 
"  gaed."  The  silent  prayer  ended,  the  pair  took 
their  way  hand  in  hand  to  the  heights  of  the 
crags,  where,  under  its  shallow  covering  of  turf 
and  heather,  the  gray  teeth  of  the  granite  shone. 
As  they  sit  they  speak,  each  to  the  other  like  men 
accustomed  to  high  and  serious  discourse. 

"  But  why  did  the  martyrs  not  go  to  the  kirk 
the  king  wanted  them  to  ?  "  the  child  asked. 

The  old  man  rose,  strong  now  on  his  feet,  the 
fire  in  his  eye,  his  natural  force  not  abated.  He 
pointed  north  to  whereon  Auchenreoch  Muir,  the 
slender  shaft  of  the  martyrs'  monument,  gleamed 


DAVID   OLIPHANT.  107 

white  among  the  darker  heather — south  to  where 
on  Kirkconnel  hillside  Grier  son  of  Lag  found  six 
living  men  and  left  six  corpses — west  toward 
Wigtown  Bay,  where  the  tide  drowned  two  of  the 
bravest  of  women,  tied  like  dogs  to  a  stake — east 
to  the  kirk-yards  of  Balweary  and  Nether 
Dullarg,  where  under  the  trees  the  martyrs  of 
Scotland  lie  thick  as  gowans  on  the  lea.  The  fire 
of  the  Lord  was  in  his  eye. 

"Dinna  forget,  David  Oliphant,"  he  said,  his 
voice  high  and  solemn,  as  in  a  chant,  "  that  these 
all  died  for  Christ's  cause  and  covenant.  They 
were  murdered  because  they  worshiped  God  ac- 
cording to  their  conscience.  Remember,  boy,  till 
the  day  of  your  death,  that  among  these  men  were 
your  forebears,  and  forget  not  also  who  they  were 
that  slew  them ! " 

And  after  twenty  years  the  late  scholar  of  St. 
Magnus  remembered. 

******* 

Again  the  young  man  saw  a  wide  black  night 
filled  with  the  echoes  of  thundering  and  the  rush- 
ing of  rain.  The  same  child  stood  in  the  open 
doorway,  and,  weeping,  called  pitifully  for 
"  Grandfather."  There  was  no  answer,  but  the 
whole  firmament  lightened  with  white  flame  from 
east  to  west ;  and  in  that  silent  moment  of  infinite 
clearness  he  saw  his  grandfather's  figure  upright 
on  the  knoll  before  the  house,  the  head  thrown 


108  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

upward  toward  that  intense  whiteness  where  the 
heavens  seemed  to  open  and  the  very  face  of  God 
to  look  through. 

******* 

Once  more  he  saw  a  Sabbath  morning,  still  with 
the  primeval  stillness  of  "  a  land  where  no  man 
comes  or  hath  come  since  the  making  of  the 
world."  Peace  all  about  the  farm-steading,  silence 
on  all  the  fields,  hardly  a  bleat  from  the  lambs 
on  the  hill ;  within  a  cool  and  calm  crispness  as 
of  homespun  linen  kept  in  lavender.  It  was  the 
silence  which  in  an  old  Cameronian  household 
succeeded  the  "  taking  of  the  Buik  "  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  day  of  the  Lord. 

Suddenly  at  the  outer  door  the  old  man  appears, 
and  he  calls  upstairs  to  his  couple  of  manly  sons 
— to  him  ever  but  lads  to  do  his  will — "  Boys, 
bring  the  'Queen's  Airms'  *  up  to  the  march 
dike  this  minute ! "  The  men  come  down  the 
stairs,  and  without  any  show  of  surprise,  take 
down  the  old  muskets  off  the  wall,  provide  them- 
selves with  powder  and  shot,  and  follow  their 
father  along  the  wide  stony  sweep  of  the  hill-road. 
The  little  lad  also  follows,  with  a  sense  that  the 
bottom  has  dropped  out  of  his  universe  when 
guns  could  be  taken  down  on  Sabbath  morning. 

*  "  Queen's  Airms,"  i.  e.,  muskets  of  the  reign  of  Queen 
Anne. 


DAVID    OLIPHANT.  109 

In  the  brisk  morning  sun  a  scattered  group  of 
men  and  dogs  was  drawing  slowly  through  the 
great  gaps  in  the  pine  woods  toward  the  gate 
which  was  the  entrance  of  the  small,  rock-bound 
farm.  At  this  gate  the  old  man  stands,  his  stal- 
wart sons  behind  him,  his  broad  blue  bonnet  in 
his  hand.  The  hunters  come  coursing  over  the 
green.  But  ere  any  one  can  open  the  gate,  the 
old  man  steps  forward,  his  white  head  bare  to 
the  sun.  David  Oliphant  can  see  the  white  hairs 
glisten  even  now. 

"  My  lord,"  he  says,  "  forty  year  I  have  been 
on  your  land  and  your  father's  land.  It  does  not 
become  me  to  tell  you  that  you  are  breaking  the 
law  of  God  by  hunting  the  beasts  of  the  field  on 
His  day  ;  but,  rny  lord,  one  thing  you  cannot  do 
— you  cannot  break  it  on  this  land  as  long  as  I 
am  upon  it !  " 

The  great  laird  came  forward,  young  and 
passionate,  a  Rehoboara  of  many  foolish  coun- 
selors. 

"What's  that  he  says,  Daly?  That  we  can't 
hunt  on  his  farm!  I'll  teach  the  canting  old 
hypocrite  that  every  yard  belongs  to  me.  Open 
the  gate,  Daly  !  " 

"  My  lord,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  am  not  care- 
ful to  answer  you  concerning  this  matter,  but  I 
beseech  you  for  your  father's  memory  not  to  do 
this  thing." 


110  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

The  young  man  wavered ;  but  a  murmur  arose 
from  his  companions. 

"  Don't  let  them  spoil  the  sport  with  their  cant- 
ing and  their  blunderbusses.  Stand  out  of  the 
way,  Oliphant !  Down  with  the  gates,  Daly !  " 

But  Daly  was  not  destined  to  take  the  gates 
down,  for  once  again  the  voice  of  the  Cameronian 
elder  rang  out,  steady  and  respectful  as  ever. 

"My  lord,  it  is  not  my  will  to  shed  human 
blood,  or  to  resist  you  by  force,  though  I  might 
well  do  it,  but  I  solemnly  warn  you  I  will  shoot 
every  dog  of  yours  that  sets  foot  on  my  land  this 
day.  Boys,  are  you  ready  ?  Stan'  forrit ! " 
******* 

The  visions  melted  from  before  David  Oliphant, 
and  he  saw  only  the  patient  bishop  waiting  his 
answer,  yawning  a  little  because  his  dinner  was 
deferred.  But  there  was  no  uncertainty  in  the 
young  man's  answer. 

"  My  lord,"  said  he,  with  the  steady  voice  and 
eye  that  had  come  to  him  from  his  grandfather, 
"  I  thank  you  heartily  for  your  good  and  kindly 
thought  for  me.  Indeed,  I  am  in  no  way  deserv- 
ing of  your  interest ;  but,  such  as  I  am,  I  must 
cleave  to  my  own  church  and  my  own  people !  " 


THE  THREE  MAISTER  PETEK  SLEES.      Ill 


THE  THREE  MAISTER  PETER  SLEES,  MIN- 
ISTERS  IN  THE  PARISH  OF  COUTHY. 

REPORTED  VERBATIM  FROM  THE  CONVERSATION  OF 
WILLIAM  M'KIE,  GRAVEDIGGER  AND  MINISTER'S 
MAN. 

IT  was  a  still  summer  evening  in  the  slack 
between  hay  and  harvest  on  the  farm  of  Drum- 
quhat.  The  Galloway  moors  rose  in  long  purple 
ridges  to  the  west.  The  sun  had  set,  and  in  the 
hollows  pools  of  mist  were  gathering,  islanded 
with  clumps  of  willow.  The  "maister"  had 
made  his  nightly  rounds,  and  was  now  medita- 
tively taking  his  smoke,  leaning  on  the  gate  at 
the  head  of  the  loaning,  and  looking  over  a  green 
cornfield,  through  the  raw  color  of  which  the  first 
yellow  was  beginning  to  glimmer.  From  the 
village  half  a  mile  away  he  could  hear  the  clink 
of  the  smith's  anvil.  There  came  into  his  mind 
a  slow  thought  of  the  good  crack  going  on  there, 
and  he  erected  himself  as  far  as  a  habitual  stoop 
would  allow  him,  as  if  he  proposed  "  daunerin' " 
over  to  the  village  to  make  one  of  the  company  in 
the  heartsome  "  smiddy." 

For  a  moment  he  stood  undecided,  and  then 


112  THE  STICKIT  MINISTEB. 

deliberately  resumed  his  former  position  with  his 
elbows  on  the  "  yett."  Saunders  MaWhurr  had 
remembered  his  wife.  To  do  him  justice,  it  was 
seldom  that  he  forgot  her.  But  in  his  single  per- 
pendicular moment  Saunders  had  been  able  to 
see  over  the  stone  dike  which  hid  from  him  the 
broken  and  deceptive  path  which  led  from  the 
farm  along  the  burnside  and  over  the  meadows 
to  the  village  of  Whunnyliggat.  What  he  saw 
would  have  astonished  a  stranger,  but  it  did  not 
even  induce  Saunders  to  take  a  second  look.  A 
man  was  approaching  up  the  loaning,  apparently 
on  all-fours.  The  farmer  knew  instinctively  that 
the  stranger  was  no  stranger  to  him.  He  only 
saw  William  Kie,  gravedigger  and  minister's  man, 
walking  as  he  had  walked  any  time  these  forty 
years.  [William's  name  was  strictly,  no  doubt, 
JTJSfte,  but  the  Mac  was  as  hopelessly  lost  as  the 
Books  of  Manetho.]  He  even  remembered  Will- 
iam when  he  was  a  dashing  young  hedger  and 
ditcher,  with  a  red  plush  waistcoat  for  the  lasses 
to  look  at  on  Sabbaths  as  they  walked  modestly 
from  the  churchyard  gate  to  the  door  of  Couthy 
Kirk. 

That  was  before  William  got  his  hurt  by  being 
thrown  off  a  hearse  in  the  famous  south  country 
snow-storm  of  the  1st  of  May.  William  Kie  had 
never  married.  Why,  you  shall  hear  some  day 
if  you  care,  for  once  in  a  mellow  mood  William 


THE  THREE  MAISTER  PETER   SLEES.      US 

told  me  the  story  in  his  whitewashed  bachelor's 
house,  that  stood  with  its  gable  end  to  the  street* 
opposite  the  Free  Kirk  School.  The  bairns  vexed 
his  soul  by  playing  "  Antony  Over "  against  the 
end  of  his  house,  and  running  into  his  garden  for 
the  ball  when,  at  every  third  throw,  it  went 
among  the  beadle's  kale.  Had  they  been  the 
pupils  of  the  authorized  parochial  dominie  at  the 
other  end  of  the  village,  William  might  have 
bore  it  with  some  degree  of  equal  mind ;  but,  as 
he  said,  a  beadle  for  forty  years  in  the  parish  kirk 
is  bound  to  have  his  feelings  about  the  Free  Kirk. 

The  farmer  of  Drumquhat  did  not  turn  round 
in  reply  to  the  greeting  of  the  minister's  man. 
He,  too,  had  his  feelings,  for  he  was  a  "  Free " 
and  an  elder. 

He  said,  "  Thank  ye,  Weelum,  I  canna  compleen. 
Hoo's  yersel'?" 

"  No'  that  weel,  Drumquhat ;  things  are  awfu* 
drug  [slow].  I  haena  buried  but  yin  since  Mar- 
tinmas— no'  a  sowl  for  fowar  months,  and  the  last 
but  a  tramp  body  that  drooned  himseF  in  the 
Dee — a  three-fit  grave  that  I  made  ower  narrow 
an'  had  to  widen  in  the  sweat  o'  my  broo — never 
a  bawbee  extra  for't  frae  the  parish,  but  a  grum- 
mel  from  that  thrawn  stick  o'  a  registrar ! " 

"  Man  alive ! "  said  Saunders  MaWhurr,  indif- 
ferently, his  thoughts  being  arithmetically  with 
his  calves  as  he  watched  Jo,  his  farm  boy,  turn 
8 


114  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

them  out  into  the  field.  The  gravedigger  knew 
that  the  farmer's  attention  was  perfunctory,  but 
he  was  not  offended,  for  Saunders  kept  three  pair 
of  horse  and  a  gig.  Instinctively,  however,  he 
took  up  a  subject  that  was  bound  to  interest  a 
Free  Kirk  elder. 

He  said,  "  Did  you  hear  what  we  got  at  the  Hie 
Kirk  yesterday  ?  I  dare  say  no'.  Yer  plooman 
was  there,  I  ken,  to  see  Jess  Coupland ;  but  him 
— he  disna  ken  a  sermon  frae  an  exposeetion,  let 
alane  bringing  awa'  the  fine  points  o'  sic  a  dis- 
coorse  as  we  gat  yesterday." 

"  He  was  oot  a'  nicht,  an  I  havna  seen  him  since 
he  lowsed,"  said  Saunders,  in  his  non-committal 
manner.  "  But  what  did  ye  get  to  mak'  ye  craw 
sae  croose  ?  No'  a  new  sermon,  1'se  warrant ! " 

"  Weel,  na,  he  didna  exactly  gang  that  length ; 
but,  dod,  it  was  better  than  that — it  was  a  new 
yin  o1  his  grandfather's/  Whaur  he  had  fa'en 
on  wi't  is  mair  than  I  can  say,  but  the  manse 
lass  tells  me  that  he  was  howkin'  up  in  the  garret 
twa  efternoons  last  week,  an'  a  bonny  sicht  he 
made  o'  himsel' ! " 

In  a  moment  the  farmer  of  Drumquhat  was 
quite  a  different  man ;  he  even  offered  William 
Kie  a  share  of  the  gate  to  lean  upon  by  silently 
stepping  aside,  which  was  a  great  deal  for  a  man 
in  his  position.  William  acknowledged  his  kind- 
ness  by  silently  seating  himself  on  a  broken  gate- 


THE  THREE  MAISTEE  PETER   SLEES,      115 

post  lying  at  the  dike-back.  This  was  what  is 
known  in  learned  circles  as  a  compromise. 

The  beadle  took  up  his  parable  :  "  As  sune  as 
he  steppit  oot  o'  the  manse,  I  could  see  that  there 
was  something  onusual  in  the  wund.  First,  I 
thocht  that  it  micht  be  clean  bands  that  the  mis- 
tress had  gotten  for  him ;  for  Mistress  Slee  was  in 
gey  guid  fettle  last  week,  an'  I  didna  ken  what  she 
michtna  hae  dune ;  but  when  I  saw  him  tak'  oot 
o'  his  case  the  same  auld  pair  that  he  has  worn 
since  the  Sacrament  afore  last — ye  can  juist  tell 
them  frae  the  color  o'  the  goon — I  kenned  that  it 
bood  be  something  else  that  was  makkin'  him  sae 
brisk.  Man,  Saunders,"  said  William,  forgetting 
to  say  "  Drumquhat,"  as  he  had  intended,  which 
was  counted  more  polite  from  a  man  like  him, 
"  Man,  Saunders,  I  dinna  ken  whaur  my  een  could 
hae  been,  for  I  even  gat  a  glisk  o'  the  sermon  as 
it  gaed  intil  the  Buik,  yet  never  for  a  minute  did 
I  jaloose  what  was  comin'." 

«  Ah,  man,  Weelum,  an'  what  was't  ava  ?  "  said 
Saunders,  now  thoroughly  awake  to  a  congenial 
topic.  He  was  glad  that  he  had  not  gone  down 
to  the  "  smiddy  "  now,  for  Saunders  was  not  in 
the  habit  of  opening  out  there  before  so  many. 

"  Weel,  Saunders,  as  I  am  tellin'  you,  it  was  a 
new  sermon  o'  his  granfaither's,  daecent  man, 
him  that  lies  aneath  the  big  thruch  stane  in  the 
wast  corner  o'  the  kirk-yard.  It's  maistly  covered 


116  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

vri'  dockens  an'  soorocks  noo,  for  the  Maister  Slee 
that  we  hae  the  noo  is  raair  fameeliar  wi'  his  fore- 
bears' ban'  o'  write  than  wi'  the  bit  stanies  that 
baud  them  daecently  doon  till  Gawbriel's  trump 
bids  them  rise ! " 

"  Haun'  o'  write !  "  quoth  Saunders ;  "  what  can 
the  craitur  mean  ?  " 

"  Saunders  MaWhurr,"  said  the  minister's  man 
solemnly,  "  therty  year  an'  inair  hae  1  carried  the 
Buik,  an'  howkit  the  yaird,  an'  dibbled  the  cab- 
bage for  the  Maister  Slees,  faither  an'  son.  Ay, 
an'  I  mind  brawly  o'  the  granfaither — a  graim' 
figure  o'  a  man  him,  sax  fit  two  in  his  buckled 
shoon.  Saunders,  I'm  no'  an'  upsettin'  man,  an' 
quate-spoken  even  on  Setterday  nicht,  but  ye  will 
aloo  that  I'm  bun'  to  ken  something  aboot  the 
three  Peter  Slees,  ministers  o'  the  parish  o' 
Couthy." 

"  Gae  on,"  said  Saunders. 

"  Weel,  it's  no'  onkenned  to  you  that  the  twa 
first  Maister  Slees  wraite  their  sermons,  for  they 
were  self-respecktin'  men,  an'  nae  ranters  haiver- 
in'  oof  o'  their  heids !  Na— " 

"  What  aboot  the  granfaither,  Weelum  ?  "  put 
in  Saunders,  quickly,  avoiding,  in  the  interests  of 
history,  contentious  matter  upon  which  at  another 
time  he  would  gladly  have  accepted  gage  of  battle. 

"  Weel,  the  granfaither  was,  as  I  hae  said,  a 
',  solit  man,  wi'  a  reed  face  on  him  like  the 


THE  THREE  MAISTER  PETER   8LEES.      117 

mune  in  hairst,  an'  sic  a  bonny  heid  o'  hair  it  was 
hardly  considered  daecent  in  the  parish  o'  Couthy. 
Fowk  used  to  think  he  wore  a  wig  till  they  saw 
him  on  horseback,  for  he  wad  ride  wi'  his  hat  in 
his  haun',  an'  his  hair  blawin'  oot  in  the  wund 
like  Absalom's.  He  was  a  rale  fine  moral 
preacher,  reared  in  the  hinder  end  o'  the  last  cent- 
ury, but  neyther  to  haud  nor  to  bind  if  onybody 
ca'ed  him  a  Moderate.  In  deed  an'  truth,  onybody 
that  saw  him  wi'  the  laird  when  the  twasome 
had  been  haein'  denner  thegither,  could  see  that 
was  a  lee  an'  a  big  yin ! " 

"  Juist  that,"  said  the  farmer  of  Drumquhat. 

"  But  when  he  preached  on  the  Sabbath  he  gied 
the  fowk  no  gospel  to  ca'  gospel,  but  he  did  mak' 
them  scunner  with  the  Law ;  an'  when  he  preached 
on  justice,  temperance,  an'  judgment  to  come, 
there  wasna  a  shut  ee  in  a  Couthy  Kirk !  Fine  I 
mind  o'  it,  though  I  was  but  a  callant,  an'  hoo  I 
wussed  that  he  wad  hae  dune  an'  let  me  hame  to 
mak'  pyowes  o'  poother  for  the  fair  on  Monday. 

"  The  faither  o'  oor  present  Maister  Slee  ye'll 
mind  yersel'.  He  was  a  strong  Non-Instrusion 
man  afore  the  '  forty-three,'  as  strong  as  it  was 
in  the  craitur  to  be.  A'  fowk  thocht  that  he 
wad  hae  corned  oot  wi'  the  lave,  an'  sae  I  believe 
he  wad  but  for  the  wife,  wha  lockit  him  in  the 
garret  for  three  days,  an'  gied  him  his  meals 
through  the  sky-licht  I 


118  THE  STICKIT  MINISTEB. 

"  His  sermons  were  like  himsel',  like  pease  brose 
made  o'  half  a  pun  o'  peas  to  the  boilerf  u'  o'  water 
— rale  evangelical,  ye  ken,  but  meat  for  babes, 
hardly  for  grown  fowk. 

"  I  needna  tell  ye,  eyther,  aboot  young  Maister 
Slee ;  weel,  he's  no'  young  noo  ony  mair  than 
oorsel's." 

««  Humph !  "  said  Saunders. 

"  He  preaches  aboot  the  lilies  o'  the  field,  hoo 
bonny  they  are,  an'  aboot  the  birds  o'  the  air,  an' 
the  mowdies  in  the  yaird — the  very  craws  he 
canna  let  alane.  He  said  the  ither  Sabbath  day 
that  fowk  that  wraite  guid  resolutions  in  their 
note-buiks  to  keep  oot  the  de'il  war  like  the 
farmer  that  shut  the  yetts  o'  his  cornfields  to  keep 
oot  the  craws  ! " 

"  That's  nane  sae  stupit ! "  said  Saunders. 

"  Na ;  he's  a  graun'  naiteralist,  the  body,"  said 
the  minister's  man,  "  an'  when  the  big  Enbra' 
societies  come  doon  here  to  glower  an'  wunner  at 
the  bit  whurls  an'  holes  in  the  rocks,  he's  the 
verra  man  to  tak'  them  to  the  bit ;  an'  whan  the 
Crechton  Asylum  fowk  cam'  doon  to  a  picnic,  as 
they  ca'ed  it,  it  was  Maister  Slee  that  gied  them 
a  lectur'  on  the  bonny  heuchs  o'  Couthy.  An* 
faith,  I  couldna  tell  ye  what  yin  o'  the  twa  com* 
panies  was  the  mair  sensible. 

"  Weel,  to  mak'  a  lang  story  short,  if  I  get  a 
lair  guid  look  at  the  paper  when  he  pits  it  intil 


THE  THREE  MAISTEB   PETEE   SLEES.      119 

the  Bulk,  I  can  tell  by  the  yellaness  o't  whether 
it's  his  ain,  or  his  faither's,  or  his  granfaither's  ; 
but  I  maistly  forget  to  look,  for  he  generally  gies 
us  them  day  aboot,  beginnin'  on  the  Sacrament 
wi'  his  faither's  famous  discoorse,  *  As  a  nail  in  a 
sure  place,'  that  we  had  every  sax  months,  till  the 
Glencairn  joiner,  a  terrible  outspoken  body,  telt 
him  that  that  nail  wadna  haud  in  that  hole  ony 
langer ! 

"  But  when  he  begins  to  preach,  we  sune  ken 
wha's  barrel  he  has  been  in,  for  if  we  hear  o'  oor 
duty  to  the  laird,  an'  the  State,  an'  them  in  au- 
thority ower  us,  we  say,  '  If  the  wast  wunda  was 
open,  an'  the  auld  man  wad  cock  his  lug,  he  wad 
hear  something  that  he  wad  ken.'  On  the  ither 
haun',  if  we  hear  aboot  these  present  sad 
troubles,  an'  speeritual  independence,  an'  effect- 
ual calling,  we  ken  he's  been  howkin'  in  the  big 
beef-barrel  whaur  the  Pre-Disruption  sermons  o' 
his  daddy  lie  in  pickle. 

"  Sae  yesterday  he  gied  us  a  terrible  startle  wi' 
a  new  yin  o'  his  granfaither's  that  nae  man  leevin' 
had  ever  heard." 

"  An'  what  was  his  text  ?  "  said  practical 
Saunders. 

"  'Deed,  an'  I'm  no'  sae  guid  at  mindin'  texts  as 
I  yince  was ;  but  the  drift  o'  it  was  that  we  war 
to  be  thankfu'  for  the  recent  maist  remarkable 
preservation  o'  oor  land  in  the  great  victory  that 


120  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

the  Duke  o'  Wellington  an'  oor  noble  airmy  had 
won  ower  the  usurper  Bonyparty  on  the  plains  o' 
Waterloo ! " 
"  That  maun  hae  been  a  treat ! "  said  Saunders. 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAN  FAIRLEY,  OF 
EARLS  WOOD. 

THIS  is  no  carried  tale,  but  just  as  the  minis- 
ter himself  told  it  to  me.  He  was  pleased  like 
when  he  telled  me,  an'  I  am  giving  you  what  is 
not  to  be  told  to  everybody.  Not  that  Allan 
Fairley  need  be  ashamed,  but  proud  the  rather 
if  every  soul  from  here  to  Maidenkirk  had  the 
outs  and  the  ins  of  the  story  at  their  fingers'  end. 
But  I'm  telling  you  that  you  may  know  the 
right  way  of  the  story,  for  there's  as  many  ways 
of  it  as  bees  in  a  bike. 

The  way  I  came  to  hear  it  was  this.  Allan  and 
the  wife  were  at  Drumquhat  overnight  on  their 
marriage  jaunt,  him  being  sib  to  my  mistress, 
and  prood  of  the  connection,  as  he  has  a  right  to 
be.  My  wife  was  a  wee  feared  about  having  her 
in  the  house,  being  aware  that  she  was  a  Gordon 
of  Earlswood — the  auldest  stock  in  Galloway, 
and  brought  up  to  be  a  lady-body.  But  she  need 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF   ALLAN  FAIBLEY.  .   121 

have  had  no  fears,  for  ye  never  saw  gentle  or 
semple  mair  free  or  heartsome.  She  ran  to  the 
barn  to  help  to  gather  the  eggs,  and  got  five, 
three  being  nest-eggs  and  a  cheena  one  that  was 
put  there  to  deceive  the  chuckles.  She  kilted 
her  coats  and  helped  to  feed  the  calves.  Then 
she  was  for  learning  to  milk,  but  Black  Bet  laid 
back  her  lugs,  and  in  the  hinder  end  kicked  ower 
the  luggie ;  and  there  was  never  such  laughing  in 
Drumquhat  since  it  was  a  farm  town.  She  made 
herseV  as  merry  and  heartsome  as  though  there 
had  never  been  a  Gordon  in  Earlswood  or  a  Doug- 
las in  the  Isle.  And  Allan  watched  her  as  if  he 
could  not  let  her  out  of  his  sight — smiling  like  a 
man  that  dreams  a  pleasant  dream  but  fears  he 
will  awaken.  Then  when  her  dancing  een  came 
across  his  steady,  quiet  look,  she  would  come 
behind  him  and  put  her  hands  over  his  eyes,  ask- 
ing what  she  had  done  that  he  should  look  at  her 
like  that. 

"  You  haven't  found  out  my  last  murder  yet, 
Allan ! "  she  would  say,  and  Allan  would  shift  in 
his  chair  well  pleased  to  watch  her.  It  was  gur- 
ley  weather  when  they  were  at  Drumquhat — 

"  The  wind  made  wave  the  red  weed  on  the  dike, 
An'  guiT  weather  gruit  beast's  hair," 

quoted  Allan,  who  has  store  of  ballads  beyond 


122  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

what  most  ministers  think  it  their  duty  to  carry. 
When  the  wife  was  off  with  the  candles  and  her 
hostess's  mysteries  (mostly  kindly  fuss  and  a 
chance  to  gossip)  to  see  Allan's  young  guidwife 
to  her  chamber,  Allan  and  me  sat  a  gye  while 
glowering  at  the  red  of  the  peat,  till  I  broke  the 
silence  that  had  fallen  between  us — the  silence  of 
companionship,  with  the  question  that  rose  quite 
natural,  for  it  was  not  yesterday  or  the  day  before 
that  I  first  kenned  the  lad.  "  Ay,  Allan,  lad,  an' 
where  did  ye  fa'  on  wi'  her  ?  "  I  could  see  the 
pride — good  honest  pride — rising  in  Allan's  face, 
flushing  his  cheek,  and  setting  his  eye  fairly  in  a 
lowe,  as  he  answered,  "  Ay,  Saunders,  didna  I  do 
the  best  day's  work  ever  I  did  when  I  got  her  ?  " 
This  was  my  own  thought  for  the  lad,  but  I  only 
said  "  An'  boo  did  ye  fa'  on  wi'  her  ?  " 

"  It's  a  long  story,  Saunders,  but  Til  tell  you  " 
— here  he  glanced  at  the  clock,  him  that  used  to 
sit  till  the  cocks  were  crawin'  a  merry  midnight 
— "  I'll  tell  ye  briefly,"  says  he.  "  The  wives  are 
not  long  in  making  us  '  like  the  horse  or  mule, 

Whose  mouth,  lest  they  come  near  to  him, 
A  bridle  must  command.' " 

I  quoted  this  once  to  my  wife,  who  replied: 
"Humph,  an'  I  never  heard  ye  war  the  waur  o't 
— 'b.orseor  mule,'"  quo  she;  "fegs,  it's  anither 


THE   COURTSHIP   OF   ALLAN   FAIRLEY.      123 

quaderaped  I  was  referrin'  to!"  But  at  this 
point  I  had  business  in  the  stable. 

"To  begin  at  the  beginning,"  said  Allan. 
"  When  I  was  elected  to  the  parish  of  Earlswood, 
I  was  the  people's  candidate,  ye  maun  ken.  I 
had  four  hundred  votes  to  thirty-three;  but 
Walter  Douglas  Gordon  of  Earlswood,  sole 
heritor  of  the  parish,  was  against  me.  He  pro- 
posed a  far-out  friend  of  his  own,  never  dream- 
ing but  he  would  be  elected  without  a  word,  and 
ye  may  guess  what  a  back-set  he  got  when  only 
his  foresters  and  them  that  was  most  behadden 
to  him  voted  for  his  m'an." 

"  He  wad  neyther  be  to  haud  nor  bin',"  said  I. 

"Na,"  said  Allan,  "and  in  open  kirk  meeting 
he  cuist  up  to  them  that  was  proposin'  me  that 
my  faither  was  but  a  plooman,  and  my  mither 
knitted  his  hose.  But  he  forgot  that  the  days 
of  patronage  were  by,  for  the  Cross  Roads  joiner 
rises,  and  says  he :  *  I  ken  Allan  Fairley,  and  I  ken 
his  faither  an'  mither,  an'  they  hae  colleged  their 
son  as  honestly  on  plooin'  an'  stockin'-knittin'  as 
your  son  on  a'  the  rents  o'  Earlswood ! ' 

"  '  He'll  never  be  minister  o'  the  parish  of  Earls- 
wood wi'  my  guid-wull ! '  says  he  ! 

"  He'll  e'en  be  minister  o'  Earlswood  withoot  it, 
then,'  said  the  joiner — an  honest  man,  not 
troubled  with  respect  of  persons.  'There's  nae 
richt  o'  pit  an'  gallows  noo,  laird ! '  says  he. 


124  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

" '  An'  it's  as  well  for  you  and  your  like ! '  said 
the  Laird  of  Earlswood,  as  he  strode  out  of  the 
kirk,  grim  as  Archie  Bell-the-Cat. 

"  Weel,  Saunders,  I  considered  that  four 
hundred  was  a  good  enough  off-set  against  thirty- 
five  of  Earlswood  foresters  and  cot-men,  so  I  was 
settled  in  the  parish,  and  took  my  mither  from 
her  knitting  to  keep  the  manse." 

"  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother ! "  said  I. 
«  You  did  well,  Allan." 

"  The  folk  at  the  big  house  left  the  kirk  and 
drove  over  to  the  Episcopalians  at  Ford,  but  I 
went  to  call,  as  it  was  my  duty  to  do.  And  I  met  a 
young  lady  in  the  grounds  and  asked  her  the  way." 

"  I  ken  they  are  extensive,"  says  I ;  "it  was  as 
weel  to  mak'  sure  of  your  road ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Allan,  ignoring  a  slight  significance 
of  tone,"  I  asked  the  way,  and  the  young  lady  kind- 
ly walked  with  me  to  the  door.  This  was  the  mes- 
sage that  the  footman  brought  back,  the  young 
lady  standing  by :  '  Mr.  Gordon  declines  to  see 
you,  and  if  you  come  on  the  premises  again,  he 
will  have  you  prosecuted  for  trespass.' " 

"  Of  course  he  couldna  uphaud  that,"  I  put  in. 

"  Very  likely  no',"  said  Allan,  "but  it  was  sore 
to  bide  from  a  poo'dered  fitman  on  Earlswood 
doorstep  under  the  blue  een  o'  Grace  Gordon !  " 

"  An'  what  did  the  say  ?  "  I  asked,  curious  for 
once. 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAN  FAIRLBY.      126 

"  Say  !  "  said  Allan,  proudly ;  "  this  is  what 
she  did:  '  Permit  me  to  offer  you  an  apology,  Mr. 
Fairley,'  she  said,  '  and  to  show  you  the  private 
path  through  the  fir  plantation  which  you  may 
not  know.'  Oh,  I  know  it  was  maybe  no'  lady- 
like,  Saunders — " 

"  But  it  was  awf u'  woman-like !  "  said  I. 

"  I'll  no'  say  anything  about  the  walk  through 
the  plantation,''  said  Allan  Fairley,  who  no  doubt 
had  his  own  sacred  spots  like  other  folk ;  "  but  I 
have  no  need  to  deny  that  a  new  thing  came  into 
my  life  that  day  when  the  rain-drops  sparkled  on 
the  fir  needles.  I  mind  the  damp  smell  o'  them 
to  this  day."  (And  there  is  no  doubt  that  the 
boy  would  to  his  dying  day.  I  mind  mysel' — but 
there  is  no  need  going  into  that.) 

"  The  time  gaed  on  as  it  has  the  gait  of  doing," 
Allan  continued,  "  and  things  settled  a  wee,  and 
I  thocht  that  they  would  maybe  all  come  round— 
except  Earls  wood,  of  course.  Ye  maun  ken  thai 
there's  a  big  colony  o'  dreadf  u'  respectable  gentry 
in  oor  parish — retired  tradesfolk  frae  Glasgow 
and  Edinburgh,  with  a  pickle  siller  and  a  back- 
load  o'  pride." 

"  I  ken  the  clan ! "  says  I. 

"  Weel,  Saunders,  ye'll  hardly  believe  what  I'm 
gaun  to  tell  you,  but  it's  no  made  story  I'm  tell- 
ing you.  There  was  two  o'  them  cam'  to  the 
manse  yae  uictit,"  §aia  AUan,  lapsing  into  his 


126  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

Doric,  "  and  the  lass  show  ed  them  until  the  study. 
It  was  gye  an'  dark,  but  they  wadna  hear  o* 
lichtin'  the  lamp,  an'  I  didna  wunner  or  a'  was 
dune.  They  didna  seem  to  have  come  aboot  ony- 
thing  in  partiklar,  but  they  couldna  get  awa',  so 
they  sat  an'  just  mishandled  the  rims  o'  their 
hats.  They  lookit  at  yin  anither  an'  oot  at  the 
wunda,  an'  up  at  the  ceilin',  but  they  never  lookit 
at  me.  At  last  yin  o'  them,  a  writer  body,  said  in 
a  kin'  o'  desperation,  '  Mr.  Fairley,  we  have  been 
deputed  to  tell  you  what  the  better  classes  of 
the  parish  think  would  be  the  best  for  you  to 
do—' 

:' '  I  am  muckle  obliged  for  the  interest  of  the 
better  classes  of  the  parish  in  my  affairs,'  says  I ; 
but  he  gaed  on  like  a  bairn  that  has  his  lesson 
perfect. 

"  '  They  think  that  it  is  a  very  noble  thing  ot 
you  to  provide  for  your  mother — filial  piety  and 
so  on ' — here  he  was  at  a  loss,  so  he  waved  his 
hands — 'but  you  must  be  aware  that — that  I  have 
a  difficulty  in  expressing  my  meaning — that  the 
ladies  of  the  congregation,  however  willing,  are 
as  unable  to  call  upon  Mistress  Fairley,  as  it  would 
no  doubt  be  embarrassing  for  her  to  receive  them. 
Would  it  not  be  better  that  some  other  arrange- 
ment— some  smaller  cottage  could  surely  be 
taken—" 

"  He  got  no  further ;  he  wadna  hae  gotten  as 


THE  COURTSHIP   OF   ALLAN   FAIRLEY.      127 

far  if  for  a  moment  I  had  jaloosed  his  drift.  I 
got  on  my  feet.  I  could  hardly  keep  my  hands 
off  them,  minister  as  I  was ;  but  I  said :  *  Gentle- 
men, you  are  aware  of  what  you  ask  me  to  do. 
You  ask  me  to  turn  out  of  my  house  the  mither  that 
bore  me,  the  mither  that  learned  me  "  The  Lord's 
my  Shepherd,"  the  mither  that  wore  her  fingers 
near  the  bane,  that  I  might  gang  to  the  college, 
that  selled  her  bit  plenishin',  that  my  manse  micht 
be  furnished!  Ye  ask  me  to  show  her  to  the 
door — I'LL  SHOW  YOU  TO  THE  DOOR  ! '  — an'  to  the 
door  they  gaed ! " 

"Weel  dune!  That  was  my  ain  Allan!'' 
cried  I. 

"  The  story  was  ower  a'  the  parish  the  next  day, 
as  ye  may  guess,  an'  wha  but  Miss  Gordon  o' 
Earlswood  ca'ed  on  my  mither  the  day  efter  that, 
an'  kissed  her  on  the  doorstep  as  she  gaed  away. 

The  lawyer's  wife  saw  her. 

"  There  was  a  great  gathering  o'  the  clans  at 
Earlswood  when  it  a'  cam'  oot,  but  Grace  had  the 
blood  of  Archibald  the  Grim  as  weel  as  her  faither ; 
an'  she  stood  by  the  black  armor  of  the  Earlswood 
who  died  at  Flodden  by  the  king,  and  said  she 
afore  them  a' :  '  I  have  heard  what  you  say  of  Mr. 
Fairley,  now  you  shall  all  hear  what  I  say.  I  say 
that  I  love  Allan  Fairley  with  all  my  heart,  and 
if  one  of  you  says  another  word  against  him,  I 
shall  walk  down  to  Earlswood  manse  and  ask 


128  THE   STJCKIT  MINISTER. 

Allan  Fairley  if  he  will  marry  Grace  Gordon  as 

she  stands ! ' " 

*        #         *        #         #         #        * 

"  Saunders,"  said  my  wife,  entering  as  if  she 
had  not  been  having  an  hour  long  woman's  gossip 
with  Grace  Fairley,  "  Saunders,  there'll  be  nae 
word  o'  this  when  the  clock  strikes  five  the  mor- 
row's morn.  I  wunner  at  you,  Allan  Fairley,  a 
mairriet  man,  keepin'  him  oot  o'  his  bed  till  this 
time  o'  iiicht  wi'  yer  clavers  !  " 

The  meeting  here  broke  up  in  confusion. 


THE  REVEREND  JOHN  SMITH,  OF  ARK- 
LAND,  PREPARES  HIS  SERMON. 

IT  is  Friday,  and  the  minister  of  Arkland  was 
writing  his  sermon.  Things  had  not  gone  well  in 
Arkland  that  week.  The  meeting  of  the  church 
court  charged  with  the  temporalities  had  not 
passed  off  well  on  Tuesday.  One  man  especially 
had  hurt  the  minister  in  a  sensitive  place.  This 
was  Peter  M'Robert,  the  shoemaker.  The  min- 
ister had  represented  that  a  bath  in  a  manse  was 
not  a  luxury  but  a  necessity,  when  Peter  M'Robert 
said  that  as  for  him  he  had  never  "had  sic  a  thing 
in  his  life,  an'  as  for  the  minister,  that  auld  Maister 


JOHN   SMITH,  OF  ARKLAND.  129 

Drouthy  had  dune  without  yin  in  the  manse  for 
thirty-three  year  to  the  satisfaction  o'  the  pairish." 

Then  there  had  been  certain  differences  of 
opinion  within  the  manse  itself,  and  altogether  the 
sermon  had  been  begun  with  the  intention  of  dress- 
ing down  the  offending  parishioners.  Nearly  all 
sermons  are  personal  to  the  preacher.  They  have 
been  awakened  within  him  by  some  circumstance 
which  has  come  to  his  knowledge  during  the  week. 
Preachers  use  this  fact  for  good  or  evil,  according 
to  their  kind. 

A  plain  man  was  John  Smith,  of  Arkland — as 
plain  and  hodden  gray  as  his  name.  He  had 
succeeded  to  the  church  with  the  largest  majority 
that  had  been  known  in  the  presbytery,  for  in 
that  neighborhood  to  have  given  a  man  a  unani- 
mous call  would  have  been  considered  a  disgrace 
and  a  reflection  on  the  critical  discrimination  of 
the  congregation.  He  had  tried  to  do  his  duty 
without  fear  or  favor,  only  asking  that  his  hands 
should  not  be  tied.  He  visited  the  sick  with  a 
plain,  quiet  helpfulness  which  brought  sympathy 
with  it  as  surely  as  the  minister  entered  the  house. 
His  sermons  were  not  brilliant,  but  they  were 
staves  and  crutches  to  many. 

Now  as  he  sat  at  his  manse  window  that  bitter 

November  morning  he  watched  the  rain  volleying 

on  the  round  causeway  stones  and  the  wide  spaces 

of  the  village  street  dimly  white  with  the  dancing 

9 


130  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

spray.  The  minister  felt  grimly  in  unison  with 
the  elements  as  he  sat  framing  his  opening  sen- 
tences. He  had  chosen  his  text  from  a  wonderful 
chapter.  "  Wisdom  is  justified  of  her  children." 
And  in  this  wise  he  began  to  write:  "To  be 
ignorant  is  to  be  dangerous.  The  ignorant  man, 
though  he  be  but  one,  can  make  of  no  account  the 
wisdom  of  many  men.  After  the  wise  of  many 
generations  have  been  striving  to  teach  a  people 
wisdom,  a  knave  or  a  fool  may  come  and  cry 
aloud,  '  There  is  no  god  but  ourselves,  there  is  no 
law  but  our  own  desires,  there  is  no  hereafter  but 
the  grave  which  we  share  with  our  sister  the  worm 
and  our  brother  the  dead  dog ! '  Yet  so  great  is 
the  folly  of  man  that  such  an  one  may  draw  away 
much  people  after  him  into  the  wilderness  of  sin 
and  self-indulgence.  It  is  in  accordance  with  the 
nature  of  man  that  ignorance  and  narrowness 
should  often  succeed  where  wisdom  is  wholly 
rejected." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  minister,  looking  over 
his  work.  He  had  Peter  M'Robert  in  his  mind, 
and  he  rose  and  walked  his  study,  "  mandating  " 
his  opening  sentences  with  appropriate  gestures, 
much  to  the  astonishment  of  Marget  Lowrie  in 
the  kitchen,  who  said, "  Save  us !  What's  wrang 
wf  the  minister  ?  This  is  no'  Setturday  ! " 

As  he  came  in  his  sentry  walks  to  the  window, 
which  looked  up  the  rain-swept  street,  he  saw  a 


JOHN   SMITH,  OF   AKKLAND.  131 

dark-colored  oblong  patch  with  a  strange  protu- 
berance on  the  right  side,  hirpling  like  a  decrepit 
beetle  athwart  the  road,  till,  being  caught  at  the 
manse  corner  by  a  bitter  swirl,  this  irregular 
shape — 

"  If  shape  it  could  be  called,  that  shape  had  none," 

stumbled  and  fell  within  thirty  yards  of  the  study 
window,  discharging  on  the  muddy  road  an  ava- 
lanche of  shavings,  small  branches,  knobs,  angles, 
and  squares  of  wood.  In  a  moment  the  minister 
was  out  at  the  door  and  was  helping  old  Nance 
Kissock  to  her  feet,  and  then  under  the  eyes  of 
all  the  wives  in  the  village  assisting  her  to  collect 
again  her  bagful  of  chips  and  kindlings  which  the 
good-natured  joiner  allowed  her  to  take  once  a 
week  from  his  floor. 

"  I  hope  you  are  none  the  worse,  Nance? "  said 
the  minister. 

"I  thank  ye,  Maister  Smith;  I'm  sair  for- 
foughten  wi'  the  wun',  but  gin  the  Almichty  be 
willing,  I'll  be  at  the  kirk  on  Sabbath  to  hear  ye. 
It's  guid  to  think  on  a'  the  week  what  ye  tell 
us.  Whiles  it  gars  me  forget  the  verra  rheu- 
matics ! " 

When  the  minister  got  back  into  the  friendly 
shelter  of  his  study,  he  took  up  the  sheet  which 
he  had  laid  down  in  order  to  rush  out  to  Nance 
Eissock's  assistance.  He  read  it  over,  but  when 


182  THE  8TTCKIT  MINISTBB. 

he  took  his  pen  again,  he  did  not  seem  to  like  it 
so  well.  If  Nance  were  speaking  the  truth,  and 
she  fed  during  the  week  on  the  spiritual  food 
which  she  received  in  his  kirk  on  the  Sabbath, 
he  could  not  conceal  from  himself  that  next  week 
she  had  a  good  chance  of  going  hungry.  Yet  he 
could  not  allow  Peter  M'Robert  to  get  off  with- 
out a  word,  so  he  put  the  thought  away  from  him 
and  went  on  with  his  task.  "  How  often  does  a 
man  of  limited  view  mistake  his  own  limitations 
for  the  possibilities  of  others.  He  never  judges 
himself — he  could  not  if  he  would — and  naturally 
when  he  judges  others  it  is  only  to  condemn 
them."  A  gust  more  then  ordinarily  powerful 
took  the  minister  again  to  the  window,  and  he 
saw  John  Scott,  the  herd  from  the  Dornel,  wring- 
ing the  wet  from  his  plaid.  He  knew  that  he  had 
come  down  to  the  village  from  the  hills  three 
miles  out  of  his  road  to  get  his  wife's  medicine. 
Presently  he  would  trudge  away  manfully  back 
again  to  the  cot-house  on  the  edge  of  the  heather. 
Now,  the  minister  knew  that  come  storm  or 
calm  John  Scott  would  be  at  the  kirk  on  the  next 
day  but  one,  and  that  he  would  carry  away  in 
the  cool,  quiet  brain  that  lay  behind  the  broad 
brow  the  heads  and  particulars  of  the  sermon  he 
heard.  As  he  went  steadily  knitting  his  stock- 
ing, conquering  the  heather  with  strides  long 
and  high,  visiting  his  black-faced  flock,  he  would 


JOHN   SMITH,  OF  ARKLAND.  133 

go  revolving  the  message  that  his  minister  had 
given  him  in  the  house  of  God. 

"  Wisdom  is  justified  of  her  children,"  repeated 
the  minister,  doggedly ;  but  his  text  now  awak- 
ened no  fervor.  There  was  no  enthusiasm  in  it. 
He  thought  that  he  would  go  out  and  let  the 
November  winds  drive  the  rain  into  his  face  for 
a  tonic.  So  he  slipped  on  his  Inverness  and  let 
himself  out.  His  feet  carried  him  toward  the 
garret  of  one  of  his  best  friends,  where  an  aged 
woman,  blind  and  infirm,  was  spending  the  latter 
end  of  her  days.  She  could  not  now  come  to 
church,  therefore  the  minister  went  often  to  her 
— for  it  was  sunshine  to  him  also  to  bring  light 
into  that  very  dark  place  where  the  aged  serv- 
ant of  God  waited  her  end. 

Mary  Garment  knew  his  step  far  down  the 
stair,  and  she  said  to  herself :  "  It  is  himsel ' ! "  and 
deep  within  her  she  gave  thanks.  "  It  is  a  great 
thing  to  hae  the  bread  o'  life  broken  to  us  so 
simply  that  we  a'  understan'  it,  Maister  Smith," 
she  said. 

"  But,  Mary,  how  long  is  it  since  you  heard  a 
sermon  of  mine  ?  " 

"It's  true  it's  a  lang  time  since  I  heard  ye 
preach,  minister,  but  I  hear  o'  yer  sermons  every 
Sabbath.  Yin  and  anither  tells  me  pairt  o't  till 
I  get  as  muckle  as  I  can  think  on." 

As   the   minister    said    good-bye    to    Mary 


184  IKE   STICKIT  MINISTER. 

Carment,  she  said:  "Ye'll  hae  ower  muckle  to 
think  on  to  mind  me  on  the  Lord's  day  when 
ye're  speakin'  for  yer  Maister ;  but  I  hae  nane 
but  you  to  mind,  sir,  so  I'll  be  prayin'  for  you  a* 
the  time  that  ye're  uphaudin'  His  name." 

"  Thank  you,  Mary,  I'll  not  forget ! "  said  her 
minister.  And  he  went  out  much  strengthened. 

As  he  went  manse  ward  he  passed  the  little 
cobbler's  den  where  Peter  M'Robert  was  tap  tap- 
ping all  the  day,  and  the  sound  of  Peter's  terrible 
cough  called  to  him  with  a  voice  that  claimed 
him.  He  stepped  in,  and  after  the  word  of  sal- 
utation, he  asked  his  office-bearer  : 

"  Are  you  not  thinking  of  getting  that  cough 
attended  to,  Peter  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Wha — me  ?  Na,  no'  me ;  hoots,  it's  but  a  bit 
boast,  nocht  to  speak  aboot,  thank  ye  for  speerin', 
Maister  Smith." 

Just  then  the  minister  saw  the  doctor  walking 
rapidly  up  the  far  side  of  the  street,  calm-faced 
and  dignified,  as  if  this  howling  November  north- 
easter were  a  beautiful  June  morning.  Him  he 
summoned. 

"Here's  Peter'll  no'  speak  to  you  about  his 
cough.  He  must  have  some  of  your  drugs, 
doctor."  f 

The  doctor  called  the  unwilling  cobbler  from 
bis  last,  and  after  a  brief  examination,  he  said  : 

"No,  I  don't  think  there  will  be  any  need  for 


JOHN   SMITH,  OF  AEKLAND.  186 

drugs,  Mr.  Smith;  if  you,  Peter,  will  use  a 
gargle  to  get  rid  of  a  trifling  local  inflammation, 
Less  lapstone  dust  and  less  snuff,  Peter,  and 
warm  water  three  times  a  day,"  said  the  doctor, 
succinctly,  and  proceeded  on  his  rounds. 

As  the  minister  went  out,  Peter  looked  up  with 
a  queer  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  Maister  Smith,"  he  said,  "  gin  water  be  sae 
needful  for  the  inside  o'  a  cobbler's  thrapple, 
maybe  I  was  wrang  in  thinkin'  that  it  wasna  as 
necessary  for  the  ootside  o'  a  minister ! " 

"  Then  we'll  say  no  more  about  it,  Peter,"  said 
the  minister,  smiling,  as  he  closed  the  door. 
"  Mind  your  gargle ! " 

When  the  minister  got  to  his  study,  he  never 
stopped  even  to  wipe  his  feet,  and  when  the 
mistress  followed  to  remonstrate,  she  found  him 
putting  his  sermon  in  the  fire. 

******* 

The  minister's  text  on  the  following  Sabbath 
morning  was  an  old  one,  but  it  was  no  old 
sermon  that  the*  Arkland  folk  got  that  day.  The 
text  was,  "  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and 
are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

Xance  Kissock  was  there,  and  did  not  go  home 
hungry ;  John  Scott  had  come  down  from  the 
muirs,  and  had  something  better  than  physic  to 
take  back  to  his  ailing  wife ;  Peter  M'Robert  sat 
in  his  corner  looking  cleaner  than  he  had  done 


136  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

within  the  memory  of  man — also  he  never 
coughed  once ;  no  less  than  eight  different  folk 
came  in  to  tell  blind  Mary  Carment  about  the 
sermon. 

But  none  but  the  minister  knew  who  it  was 
that  had  been  praying  for  him. 


A  DAY  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  REVEREND 
JAMES  PITBYE,  MINISTER  OF  NETHER 
DULLARG. 

THERE  is  no  doubt  that  we  in  this  part  of  the 
world  have  the  wale  of  ministers.  And  this  is 
what  nobody  but  John  Tamson  of  the  Risk  thinks 
of  denying;  but  then  John  was  never  a  weel- 
spoken  body,  and  indeed  had  some  bit  thought  of 
trouble  with  the  session  in  his  young  days  long 
before  he  was  an  elder  himsel'.  So  nobody  heeds 
much  what  he  says.  • 

John  was  over  at  Drumquhat  the  other  night, 
and  after  him  and  me  had  settled  our  matters,  he 
was  telling  me  about  the  minister  that  they  had 
got  now  in  the  parish  of  Nether  Dullarg. 

"  Ay,"  says  he,  "  he's  a  rale  quaite  chiel,  oor 
minister.  Faut?  Na,  I  hae  no  faut  to  find  wi* 
him.  Na,  he's  rale  ceevil." 


THE  MINISTER   OF   NETHER  DTJLLARG.      137 

"  I'm  glad  ye  like  your  minister,  for  there's  no 
that  mony  pleases  you,  John,"  said  I,  to  give  an 
opening,  for  I  had  heard  that  he  was  waur  ta'en 
with  this  minister  than  with  all  the  rest. 

"You'll  see  a  heap  of  him,  so  to  speak,  just 
over  the  dike  ?  "  said  my  mistress. 

"  Ow,  ay,  he's  no'  that  ill  to  see,"  he  said,  very 
slowlike,  for  I  could  see  that  he  was  fair  girnin.' 
with  what  the  clerk  of  our  school  board  calls  "  an 
ironical  mainner  o'  speech."  This  is  a  thing  no* 
much  affected  in  our  countryside,  except  by  John 
Tamson  himsel'  and  a  road-man  they  call "  Snash  " 
Magill.  Snash,  when  the  school  board  had  him 
up  before  them  for  not  sending  his  bairns  to  the 
new  school  at  Dike  End,  had  the  assurance  to  ask 
the  chairman  if  his  father  would  ever  have  been, 
out  of  jail  if  there  had  been  a  school  board  in  his 
young  days.  But  the  board  was  very  sore  on  him 
for  this,  because  they  mostly  all  were  much  obli- 
gated to  the  chairman  or  were  nearly  related  to 
them  that  were. 

John  Tamson  is  no*  a  man  that  I  would  be 
fond  of  having  for  next  neighbor  myself,  but  he'd 
very  entertaining  when  he  comes  over  forenicht. 
He  likes  to  sit  in  the  kitchen,  so  when  he  is 
at  Drumquhat  the  men  are  very  exact  about 
«'  lowsin'-time,"  and  I  take  a  bit  turn  round  the 
yard  myself,  just  to  see  that  they  don't  skimp  the 
stabling  of  the  horses  in  their  hurry  to  get  in  to 


138  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

their  supper,  being  well  aware  that  John  will  be 
in  full  blast,  and  anxious  to  miss  as  little  as  pos- 
sible. 

'"  We  f and  f aut  wi'  oor  last  twa  ministers  for  no* 
atoppin'  lang  wi'  us,"  said  John,  when  we  were 
all  quiet,  for  John  can  not  do  with  folk  "  hotch- 
in'  an'  fldgin'."  If  he  had  been  a  minister,  as  at 
one  time  be  thought  of  being,  before  his  trouble, 
he  would  have  taken  a  drink  and  unfolded  his 
•white  napkin  when  the  late  folk  are  coming  up 
the  aisle,  as  our  Mr.  Fairley  does  whiles  to  en- 
courage them  to  be  in  time  next  Sabbath.  "  Ay, 
fowk  were  no  pleased  wi'  them  for  shiftin'  so 
quick,  but  that's  no  a  faut  that  they'll  hae  to  fin' 
wi'  Maister  Pitbye,  or  I'm  sair  mista'en,  for  I'm 
thinkin1  that  the  Dullarg  folk'll  get  him  to 
bury ! " 

Here  my  wife  put  in  her  word  as  she  stood  at 
the  bakeboard — the  wife  whiles  allows  that  she 
is  scandalized  with  John's  wild  talk,  but  she  finds 
a  great  deal  of  work  in  the  kitchen  when  he  is 
here,  for  all  that.  She  "  likes  to  hear  the  body's 
din,"  as  she  once  said  when  I  tried  her  with  a 
chapter  or  two  of  Tammas  Carlyle  when  I  was 
reading  in  the  winter  f orenichts  about  the  Heroes. 
«*  It's  better  than  sittin'  clockin'  an'  reading' — a 
body  micht  as  weel  no  hae  a  man  ava — though  I 
can  not  mak'  oot  what  the  craitur  wad  be  at,  I 
like  to  hear  the  body's  din  1 "  My  wife's  a  good 


THE  MINISTER   OP  NETHER   DULLARG.       139 

wife,  but  her  tongue  wad  clip  cloots,  or  as  the 
clerk  o'  the  school  board  would  say,  she  has  "  a 
facility  in  expressing  her  meaning." 

"I  hear  that  he's  a  very  quaite  man,"  said 
Mistress  M'Quhirr;  "but  somebody  was  tellin' 
me  that  he  was  no'  considered  a  great  veesitor." 

"  Veesitor,  quo'  she! "  says  John,  with  his  birses 
up  in  a  moment,  "  hoo  div  ye  think  that  the  man 
has  time  to  veesit,  considerin'  the  wark  that  he 
pits  through  ban'  in  a  day !  I  wonder  to  hear  ye, 
Mistress  MaWhurr ! " 

The  herd-boy  got  up  off  the  settle,  for  it  was 
interesting  to  hear  John  Tamson  uphaudin'  the 
ministers — him  bein'  weel  kenned  for  an  Auld 
Kirk  elder  and  nae  great  professor. 

"If  I  dinna  ken  what  that  man  does  in  the  dayt 
there's  naebody  kens,"  said  John,  raxing  for  a 
peat  to  light  his  pipe.  "  Noo,  I'll  juist  gie  ye  an 
idea — last  Friday  I  was  about  the  hoose  a'  day, 
aff  an'  on,  wi'  a  meer  that  was  near  the  foalin'. 

"  At  nine  by  the  clock  his  bedroom  blind  gaed 
up,  an'  he  cam'  doon  the  stair  maybe  a  quarter  o' 
an  'oor  after  or  thereby.  The  mistress  had  been 
up  an'  aboot  frae  seven,  an'  had  the  bairns  a* 
washt  an'  dresst,  an'  oot  at  the  back  so  as  no  to 
waken  their  faither,  or  disturb  him  in  his  think- 
in'.  Weel,  doon  he  comes  an'  gets  his  breakfast, 
for  I  saw  Betty  takkin'  in  the  cream  frae  the 
larder  at  the  end  o'  the  hoose.  She  skimmed  it 


140  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

aff  the  bairns'  milk  for  their  parritch,  an'  set  it 
there  for  the  minister  himsel',  it  being  weel 
kenned  through  a'  Gallowa'  that  cream  is  needed 
for  the  brain  wark.  Then  there's  a  bell  rings  for 
prayers,  an'  Betty  synes  herseF  an'  gangs  ben, 
an'  their  mither  shoos  the  bairns  out  o'  the  sand- 
hole,  an'  gies  them  a  dicht  to  mak'  them  faceable 
to  gang  in.  Then  in  ten  minutes  they're  a'  oot 
again,  an'  here  comes  himsel'  for  a  rest  an'  a 
smoke,  and  to  look  oot  for  the  post.  Maybes  in 
half  an  'oor  the  post  comes  in  sicht,  wi'  his 
troosers  buckled  up,  for  he's  an  onmarried  man 
an'  thinks  a  dale  o'  his  reed  braid  The  minister 
has  never  moved,  snaokin'  an'  thinkin',  nae  doot, 
o'  the  Sabbath's  sermon.  The  post  gies  him 
twa-three  papers  an'  letters,  an'  then  yesterday's 
Scotsman  that  he  tak's  alang  wi'  Maister  Mac- 
Phun  doon  at  the  Cross  Roads.  The  post's  auntie 
cleans  Maister  MacPhun's  kirk,  so  the  post  tak's 
the  paper  up  to  the  Dullarg  for  naething. 
"They're  juist  from  the  Church  Offices;  take 
them  on  to  the  manse,  an'  gie  me  the  paper,"  he 
says.  Syne  he  sits  doon,  decent  man,  as  he  had 
a  good  richt  to  do,  on  the  green  seat  at  the  end  o' 
the  hoose,  an'  wi'  great  an'  surprisin'  diligence 
he  reads  the  Scotsman  till  maybe  half  past  twal. 
But  he  has  had  cracks  forbye  in  the  byegaun,  wi' 
a  farmer  that  had  been  at  the  smiddy,  wi'  John 
Grier  the  tea-man,  wha  is  an  elder  o'  his  an'  never 


THE  MINISTER   OF   NETHER   DULLARG.      141 

centres  him  in  the  session,  an'  forbye  has  sent  twa 
tramps  doon  the  road  wi'  a'  flea  i'  their  lug,  I'm 
thinkin'.  Then  he  lays  the  paper  doon  on's  knees, 
an'  ye  wad  think  that  his  studies  war'  makkin' 
him  sleepy ;  but  little  do  ye  ken  him  if  ye  think 
sae — for  roon  the  hoose  efter  a  yella  butterflee 
comes  his  boy  Jeems,  wha  disna  promise  to  be 
the  quaite  ceevil  man  his  father  is.  He  stops  the 
callant  aboot  the  quickest,  an'  sen's  him  in  to 
his  mither  to  bring  oot  word  when  the  denner 
will  be  ready.  Maister  Pitbye  says  nocht  when 
the  answer  comes,  but  he  tak's  up  Thursday's 
paper  again,  an'  has  a  look  at  the  adverteese- 
ments  an'  the  births,  daiths,  an'  mairraiges.  Then 
he  cleans  his  pipe,  for  he's  a  carefu'  man,  an'  in 
some  things  baith  eident  [diligent]  and  fore- 
handed. 

"Then  efter  denner  is  by  he  has  another  smoke, 
as  every  man  should  that  has  a  respec'  for  his 
inside.  Then  he  fills  again  an'  gangs  inbye  to 
his  study,  where  the  blind  is  drawn  doon,  for 
ower  muckle  licht  is  no  guid  for  the  sermon- 
makkin'.  For  twa  'oors  he  works  hard  there,  an' 
disna  like  to  be  disturbit  nayther,  for  yince  afore 
we  fell  oot,  when  I  gaed  to  see  him  about  some 
sma'  maitter,  the  lass  pit  me  in  rather  sharp,  an'  the 
sofa  gied  an  awfu'  girg,  an'  there  sat  the  minister 
on's  ain  study  chair,  blinkin'  an'  no  weel  pleased, 
like  a  hoolet,  at  bein'  disturbit  -U  the  studyin'. 


142  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

"  There's  nae  mainner  o'  doot  that  it's  then  that 
the  sermons  are  made,  for  a'  the  rest  o's  time  I 
can  accoont  for.  Then  when  tea  is  bye,  oot 
comes  the  minister  wi'  his  pipe,  an'  sets  his  elbows 
on  the  dike,  an'  does  some  mair  o'  the  thinkin'. 
Then  he  pits  on  his  third  best  hat,  an'  awa'  he 
sets  doon  the  brae  to  the  shop,  an'  there,  as  oor 
lass  Peg  telled  me,  him  an'  John  Aitken  ca'ed  the 
crack  for  the  best  pairt  o'  an  'oor.  Then  he 
gangs  his  wa's  in,  as  he  does  every  nicht,  to  see 
the  clerk  o'  oor  schule  board,  wha  ance  at  an 
election  time  made  a  temperance  speech  in  the 
next  coonty,  but  wha's  ower  weel  kenned  a  man 
to  do  the  like  at  hame.  It  was  chappin'  nine  by 
the  clock  when  the  minister  cam'  hame  to  his 
supper,  to  tak'  the  Book,  an'  decently  to  gang  to 
his  bed,  nae  doot  wi'  the  approval  o'  his  con- 
science that  he  had  dune  a  good  day's  wark." 

"  An'  it's  time  that  we  were  a'  in  oor  beds !  " 
said  my  wife. 


THE  GLEN  KELLS  SHORT  LEET. 

THEEB  was  a  silence  in  all  the  chambers  of  the 
manse  of  Glen  Kells.  A  wet  and  dreary  wind 
wailed  about  it  and  shook  the  rain-drops  off  the 
Scotch  firs  that  sheltered  it.  Hushed  footsteps 


THE  GLEN  KELLS   SHORT  LEET.          143 

moved  to  and  fro  in  the  kitchen,  with  occasional 
pauses,  as  if  conscious  of  their  own  inappropri- 
ateness.  There  was  the  dank  trail  of  many 
wheels  on  the  narrow  graveled  walk  before  the 
porch.  The  rain  stood  in  them  as  in  the  dis- 
malest  of  canals.  It  was  the  day  after  the  mini- 
ster's funeral. 

In  an  upper  room  two  women  sat  looking  out 
at  the  rain.  The  younger  held  the  hand  of  the 
elder ;  but  in  this  room  also  there  was  silence. 
They  were  silent,  for  they  had  seen  their  old  life 
crumble  like  a  swallow's  nest  in  the  rain,  and 
they  had  not  yet  seen  the  possibility  of  any  new 
life  rise  before  them.  So  they  sat  and  looked  at 
the  rain,  and  it  seemed  that  there  was  nothing  for 
them  to  do  but  to  go  forward  forever  and  ever — the 
rain  beating  about  them,  their  feet 

"Deep  down  in  a  drift  of  dead  leaves." 

****** 
There  was  a  "  short  leet" — mystic  words,  not  un- 
derstanded  of  the  Southron — in  the  Glen  of  the 
Kells.  The  "  short  leet "  did  not  come  all  at  once 
— this  had  been  too  much  happiness,  tending  to 
make  kirk  "members  and  adherents"  lose  dis- 
tinction in  their  joys.  But  they  came — there 
were  just  three  of  them,  the  leet  being  the  short- 
est of  leets — each  for  a  Sabbath  into  the  glen, 
preaching  at  noon  in  the  kirk,  and  in  the  evening 


144  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

in  the  schoolhouse  of  the  clachan.  Yet  all  but 
one  went  away  feeling  that,  whoever  was  the 
man,  it  could  not  possibly  be  he,  for  the  congrega- 
tion of  the  hill-folk  at  each  diet  of  worship  sat 
silent  and  expressionless,  while  fiery  denuncia- 
tion and  thunderous  exhortation  passed  them 
over  sitting  there  equal-minded  and  unscathed. 
The  first  who  preached  was  the  Reverend  James 
Augustus  Towers,  assistant  in  St.  Mungo's  in 
Edinburgh,  no  less.  He  had  been  pitched  upon 
as  the  likely  man  as  soon  as  the  list  had  been 
made  up  by  the  "co-mitee" — the  assembly  of 
office-bearers  and  honorable  men  not  a  few  of 
the  parish  of  Glen  Kells.  The  Reverend  James 
Augustus  Towers  was  a  distinguished  assistant. 
He  had  been  brought  out,  a  very  callow  fledgling, 
under  the  aristocratic  wing  of  the  great  Dr.  Paton, 
the  distinguished  critic  and  superior  person  of  the 
whole  church.  There  he  learned  that  Presby- 
terianism  had  no  claims  on  any  man's  admira- 
tion— that  Presbytery  was  singularly  unbeautiful 
— that  the  beautiful  alone  was  the  good — that  a 
creed  was  a  most  inconvenient  incumbrance — that 
enthusiasm  made  a  man  hot  and  ridiculous,  while 
the  cultured  calms  and  ordered  forms  of  the 
Anglican  Church,  as  understood  by  the  higher 
clergy,  were  the  only  things  really  worthy  of 
admiration,  though  even  these  must  be  carefully 
denuded  of  all  meaning.  Such  was  the  equip- 


THE  GLEN   KELLS   SHORT  LEET.          145 

tnent  wherewith  the  Reverend  James  Augustus 
Towers  undertook  to  become  a  candidate  for  the 
suffrages  of  the  herds  and  farmers  of  Glen  Kells. 
He  brought  his  own  gown  and  cassock  from  Edin- 
burgh, and  had  a  colored  cloth  hanging  over  his 
back  when  he  preached  in  the  kirk  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  sermon  was  lost  to  the  Glen  of  the 
Kells,  for  nobody  ever  heard  a  word  of  it,  so  in- 
tent were  their  eyes  on  this  new  thing,  unknown 
and  uniraagined,  that  had  come  into  their  midst. 
The  "  Frees "  said  it  was  "  a  rag  of  Rome," 
while  the  U.  P.'s  up  at  St.  John's  Town  said  that 
it  was  "  nocht  less  than  the  mark  of  the  beast.'* 
But  "Clicky"  Steward,  the  grieve  at  Craigen- 
caille,  who  had  never  attended  church  with  any 
regularity  before,  and  who  meant  to  vote  as  an 
adherent,  said,  with  a  strong  expression  which 
those  who  know  him  will  recognize,  "  Says  as  ye 
like,  the  lad  wi'  the  tippet's  the  boy  for  me ! " 
And  there  were  not  a  few  of  "  dicky's  "  mind. 

All  the  candidates  stayed  at  the  manse,  past 
which  the  Kells  water  was  slipping  gently  as  of 
old.  The  late  minister's  widow  was  still  in 
possession,  and  it  was  expected  by  the  not  un- 
kindly folk  that  she  would  not  have  to  flit  till 
May — "she  wad  get  time  to  look  aboot  her." 
Gavin  Ross  had  died  a  poor  man,  but  he  had  not 
forgotten  to  make  what  provision  he  could  for 
his  wife  and  daughter.  Indeed,  there  had  no  day 
10 


146  THE   8TICKIT   MINISTER. 

dawned  and  no  night  fallen  since  ever  he  married 
when  he  did  not  bear  this  within  him  next  the 
very  skin  of  his  naked  soul.  The  mother  and 
daughter  had  looked  over  the  possibilities — to  go 
to  Edinburgh,  and  there  to  take  the  better  kind 
of  house  and  try  the  old  sad  plan  of  keeping 
lodgers,  which  none  who  undertake  have  their 
trials  to  seek ;  to  settle  in  Cairn  Edward  and  open 
a  little  school,  where  no  doubt  Margaret  could 
get  a  few  pupils  in  music  and  French.  But  in 
the  heart  of  Margaret  Ross  there  often  came  a 
thought  which  never  visited  that  of  her  mother, 
that  the  best  of  these  prospects  was  miserably 
inadequate  to  the  supply  of  her  mother's  needs 
on  anything  like  the  scale  to  which  she  was 
accustomed.  She  felt  that  it  lay  on  her  to  keep 
her  mother,  whose  heart  had  never  recovered 
from  the  shock  of  her  husband's  death — all  whose 
sorrow  was  now  bound  up  in  the  thought  that 
before  long  she  must  leave  the  manse  to  which 
she  had  come  as  a  bride  on  Gavin  Ross's  arm  so 
many  years  ago. 

Into  this  home  of  silence  came  the  Reverend 
James  Augustus  Towers,  and  his  attitude  was  as 
condescending  and  superior  as  though  he  were 
already  master  of  the  manse,  and  the  pale  women- 
folk but  lodgers  on  sufferance.  He  made  himself 
at  home— in  carpet  slippers,  for  it  was  only  in  the 
pulpit  that  he  covered  himself  with  the  vain  gauda 


THE  GLEN   KELLS   SHORT   LEET.  147 

of  adornment.  As  soon  as  he  came  to  a  dining- 
table,  or  into  a  drawing-room — then,  ah !  then,  in 
spite  of  the  veneer  of  culture,  it  was  in  the  power 
of  the  most  casual  observer  "to  trace,  with  half 
an  eye, 

The  still  triumphant  carrot  through  !" 

The  Reverend  James  Augustus  Towers,  assist- 
ant in  the  Kirk  of  St.  Muugo,  sat  at  the  fire  in  the 
manse  dining-room  while  Margaret  Ross  helped 
Janet  to  take  the  things  to  the  kitchen  after  din- 
ner. He  kept  his  back  steadily  to  them,  being 
content  with  himself  and  secure  of  his  chances. 
Then  he  lay  at  length  in  an  easy-chair  and  picked 
his  teeth,  while  the  carpet  slippers  sunned  them- 
selves on  Gavin  Ross's  fender. 

******* 

It  was  the  night  when  the  third  candidate  was 
expected  at  the  manse  of  Kells.  He  had  never 
been  there  before,  but  a  friend  of  the  banker,  who 
was  convener  of  committee,  had  heard  the  lad 
preach  in  a  neighboring  parish,  and  that  very 
powerful  man  had  exerted  his  influence — no  light 
thing  in  a  community  of  small  farmers — to  have 
Christopher  Murray  put  on  the  list,  and  after- 
ward drafted  into  the  mystic  trio  of  the  short 
leet.  The  second  candidate  had  come  and  gone, 
without  leaving  any  impression  ;  "  his  name  was 
indeed  writ  in  water."  Had  he  known  it,  he  owed 


148  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

this  to  the  banker.  He  was  the  son  of  the  promi- 
nent ecclesiast  who  was  prime  minister  of  the 
local  Presbytery — "could  twist  them  roon'  his 
wee  finger,"  it  was  said.  Now,  the  banker  had 
no  idea  of  committing  the  affairs  of  the  parish  to 
this  prominent  father  in  the  church, 

"  Of  large  discourse  and  excellent  taste  in  wines." 

He  had  received  a  letter  from  the  wife  of  this 
gentleman,  who  was  a  distant  kin  of  his  own, 
an  epistle  evidently  inspired  by  a  hand  heavily 
clerkly  and  presbyterial,  recounting  the  marvels 
of  her  son's  academic  career,  and  all  his  later  fit- 
ness for  the  position  of  minister  of  the  parish  of 
Glen  Kells.  This  was  hardly  fair  to  the  youth, 
who,  in  spite  of  his  training,  was  a  really  modest 
lad.  But  the  banker,  a  man  wise  in  counsel  as 
kindly  in  heart,  smiled  as  he  wrote  him  down 
on  his  official  list,  under  the  column  devoted  to  tes- 
timonials— By  whom  recommended.  "The  Rev- 
erend Roderick  Rorison,  recommended  by  his 
mother."  And  the  smile  was  as  wide  and  as  long 
as  the  Glen  Kells  in  twenty-four  hours  after  the 
next  committee  meeting,  while  the  young  man's 
chances  had  utterly  vanished  away. 

At  the  bank  as  well  as  in  the  manse  there  was 
expectancy  going  out  toward  the  gig  of  the  farmer 
of  Drumrash,  in  which  the  last  man  on  the  short 


THE  GLJCN  KELLS   SHORT  LEET.          149 

leet  was  to  make  his  way  up  the  Glen  of  the  Kells 
Water.  On  its  jigging  and  swaying  eminence 
the  other  two  had  likewise  made  their  exits 
and  their  entrances.  For  Glen  Kells  believed  in 
giving  every  man  an  equal  chance — except  the 
banker,  who  smiled  to  himself  as  he  thought  of 
the  Reverend  Peter  Rorison,  folding  his  comfort 
able  hands  and  looking  across  to  his  wife  as  if 
between  them  they  had  already  annexed  the  Glen 
of  the  Kells  to  their  diocese.  But  the  banker 
was  far  from  comfortable ;  for,  though  he  wished 
the  Reverend  Christopher  Murray  well,  he  knew 
that  if  he  failed  to  please,  the  only  alternative 
was  the  Reverend  James  Augustus  Towers — and 
the  banker  did  not  admire  the  "  tippet." 

When  Christopher  Murray  topped  the  brae  at 
the  head  of  which  the  manse  stood,  he  was  think- 
ing of  nothing  higher  than  the  prospect  of  a  cup 
of  tea  and  a  quiet  fire  by  which  to  spend  the 
evening  and  read  the  book  which  he  had  brought 
with  him  in  his  black  bag.  He  pulled  at  the 
manse  bell,  and  somewhere  far  down  the  stone 
passages  he  heard  it  ring.  It  had  a  fixed  and 
settled  sound,  quite  different  from  the  deafening 
clangor  of  the  town  house  bells,  where,  when  you. 
pull  an  innocent-looking  knob  in  a  lintel,  you 
seem  to  set  in  motion  a  complete  church  peal 
immediately  on  the  other  side  of  the  door. 
Christopher  Murray  was  ready  to  tell  the  maid 


150  THE   STICKIT  MINISTER. 

whom  he  expected  to  open  the  door  that  he  was 
the  minister  come  to  supply  on  the  next  day.  He 
was  prepared  for  that  look  of  compassion  for  his 
youth  which  he  knew  so  well,  which  said  as  plain 
as  words  could  say,  "  Puir  lad,  little  do  ye  ken 
what's  afore  ye  in  this  pairish ! "  But  he  was  not 
prepared  for  what  he  did  see.  A  slender  girl  in 
black,  fair  as  a  lily,  stood  in  the  dark  doorway, 
waiting  for  him  to  speak.  Speak  he  did,  but 
what  he  said  he  could  never  remember ;  for  he 
found  himself,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  endeavor- 
ing to  apologize  for  some  offense  which,  though 
quite  clear  to  himself,  he  was  strangely  unable  to 
express  in  words.  He  felt  himself  uncouth,  un- 
gainly, coltish,  generally  "  in  the  road,"  but  he 
never  got  any  great  length  with  putting  it  into 
words ;  for  in  an  incredibly  short  time  he  found 
himself  mysteriously  at  home  in  the  manse  par- 
lor, an  apartment  unpenetrated  by  the  assur- 
ance of  the  Reverend  James  Augustus  Towers,  or 
the  illustrious  ancestry  of  the  Reverend  Roderick 
Rorison ;  where,  at  the  head  of  her  mother's  in- 
valid sofa,  his  eyes  could  watch  the  busy  fingers 
and  flower-like  face  of  Margaret  Ross,  pathetic  in 
her  black  dress.  Christopher  Murray  was  an 
orphan,  and  had  little  knowledge  of  the  life  of 
the  home,  but  he  says  now  that  his  aspirations 
for  a  home  of  his  own  dated  from  this  time.  It 
is  safest  to  believe  a  man  when  he  tells  you  little 


THE  GLEN  KELLS  SHORT  LEET.    151 

coincidences  of  this  kind.    Very  likely  he  believes 
them  himself. 

The  fateful  morrow  came,  and  the  last  man  on 
the  leet  proved  himself  no  bungler.  He  preached 
straight  from  the  shoulder.  There  were  more 
there  at  night  than  had  been  in  the  forenoon,  a 
thing  that  had  not  been  known  in  the  Glen  Kells 
in  the  memory  of  man.  This  is  what  old  Betty 
Grierson  said;  she  was  a  great  critic  of  sermons, 
and  they  say  that  even  Mr.  Rorison  was  feared 
for  her  :  "'Deed,  sirs,  I  howp  the  fear  o'  £od  has 
been  gien  to  that  young  man,  for  of  a  truth  the 
fear  o'  man  has  been  withhauden  from  him,"  which 
was  better  then  twenty  testimonials  in  the  parish. 
The  banker  smiled,  for  he  knew  that  the  "  tippet" 
had  now  small  chance  of  being  aired  a  second 
time  in  the  kirk  of  the  Glen  Kells. 

******* 

So  Christopher  Murray  is  now  placed  minister 
in  the  Glen  of  the  Kells,  and  has  a  good  prospect 
of  a  home  of  his  own.  But  Mrs.  Ross  and  her 
daughter  Margaret  are  still  in  the  manse,  and  the 
young  minister  is  lodging  for  a  time  over  the 
shop  in  the  village.  The  Rosses  have  given  up 
the  little  house  they  had  taken  in  Cairn  Edward, 
and  Christopher  Murray  smiles  like  a  man  well 
pleased  when  the  people  ask  him  when  he  is  going 
into  the  manse.  He  does  not  think  that  Mrs. 
Ross  will  be  troubled  to  move  out  of  the  old 


152  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

manse  overhanging  the  Kells  Water  in  which  she 
has  lived  so  long,  and  he  has  the  best  of  reasons 
for  his  belief. 


BOANERGES    SIMPSON'S    INCUMBRANCE. 

EVERY  one  said  that  it  was  a  pity  of  Boanerges 
Simpson,  the  minister  of  St.  Tudno's.  This  was 
universally  recognized  in  Maitland.  Not  only 
the  congregation  of  St.  Tudno's,  but  the  people  of 
other  denominations,  knew  that  Mr.  Simpson 
was  saddled  with  a  wife  who  was  little  but  a 
drag  upon  him.  They  even  said  that  he  had  been 
on  the  point  of  obtaining  a  call  to  a  great  city 
charge,  when,  his  domestic  circumstances  being 
inquired  into,  it  was  universally  recognized  by 
the  session  of  that  company  of  humble  followers 
of  Christ  that,  however  suitable  the  Reverend 
Boanerges  Simpson  might  be  to  receive  £1,200  a 
year  for  preaching  the  Carpenter's  Gospel  to  it, 
Mrs.  Boanerges  Simpson  was  not  at  all  the  woman 
to  dispense  afternoon  tea  to  the  session's  spouses 
between  the  hours  of  three  and  six. 

It  was,  however,  also  well  known  that  the  min- 
ister of  St.  Tudno's  bore  up  under  this  household 
trial  like  an  angel.  His  quiet  patience  with  his 
help  unmeet  became  a  proverb.  He  had  a  bland, 


BOANERGES   SIMPSON'S   INCUMBRANCE.      153 

vague,  upward-looking  eye,  and  walked  as  one 
wrapped  in  the  mysteries  of  such  deep  thought 
as  few  could  fathom.  When  any  one  glanced  at 
his  particular  sufferings,  he  sighed  and  passed 
lightly  to  another  subject.  He  had  a  softly 
episcopal  hand-shake  which  made  some  women 
call  him  blessed,  and  many  men  itch  to  kick  him. 
This  hand-shake  was  one  of  his  chief  assets. 

But  his  great  power  came  out  in  his  sermons. 
Even  his  enemies  admitted  that  he  was  noble  in 
the  pulpit.  Yet  he  was  not  a  natural  orator.  He 
had  not  the  readiness  of  resource,  the  instanta- 
neousness  of  attack  and  defense  requisite  for  the 
speaker.  His  sermons  were  given  in  an  exqui- 
sitely varied  recitative,  and  when  he  redelivered 
them,  it  was  often  remarked  with  admiration  that 
he  placed  the  emphasis  on  the  same  words,  made 
the  same  pauses,  and  became  affected  as  close  to 
tears  as  decorum  would  permit  in  precisely  the 
same  places. 

His  care  in  preparation  was  often  held  up  to 
his  brother  ministers  in  the  town  of  Maitland, 
among  whom  he  was  not  popular,  owing,  no 
doubt,  to  the  jealousy  which  prevails  in  all  pro- 
fessions. Still  they  had  him  often  to  preach  for 
them,  for  no  minister  in  the  country  could  draw 
such  a  crowd — or  such  a  collection.  There  were 
half  a  dozen  rich  old  ladies  who  were  known  to  have 
Mr.  Simpson  in  their  wills,  and  these  accompanied 


154  THE   STICKIT  MINISTER. 

him  about  wherever  he  preached,  like  tabbies 
following  a  milk  jug.  There  were  also  a  good 
many  ladies  of  various  ages  who  visited  at  the 
manse  of  St.  Tudno's  at  hours  when  the  Reverend 
Boanerges  was  known  to  be  resting  from  the 
labors  of  sermon  production  in  the  drawing-room. 
They  did  not  often  see  his  wife.  She,  no  doubt, 
felt  herself  quite  unpresentable,  poor  thing !  So 
ono  of  the  visitors  was  asked  to  dispense  tea. 
This  was  generally  recognized  to  be  as  it  should  be. 

The  town  of  Maitland  came  as  near  to  being  a 
city  as  some  fools  come  to  being  geniuses.  Mait- 
land has  an  ancient,  and,  in  its  early  stages,  an 
honorable  history.  It  had  been  a  great  city 
when  the  capital  of  Scotland  was  a  barren  rock 
and  when  the  fisher  steered  his  coracle  below  the 
lonely  braes  of  the  Clydeside  Broomielaw.  In  its 
latter  days  it  had  taken  to  the  manufacture  of 
thread  and  the  digging  of  coal.  But  its  burghers 
have  still  much  pride  about  them,  severely  tem- 
pered with  economy. 

Some  years  ago  Maitland  resolved  on  having 
new  municipal  buildings.  The  ancient  town  hall 
was  also  in  its  under  story  the  jail,  and  it  was  not 
seemly  that  the  bailies  and  the  very  provost 
should  be  compelled  to  listen  to  the  sighing  of 
the  prisoner  whom  they  had  just  committed  for 
being  drunk  and  disorderly,  and  who  in  the  cells 
beneath  still  audibly  continued  to  be  the  latter. 


BOANERGES   SIMPSON'S   INCUMBRANCE.      156 

The  town  hall  was,  therefore,  abandoned  to  the 
victims  of  police  interference,  and  the  new  mu- 
nicipal buildings  rose  nobly  in  the  middle  of  the 
town. 

But  when  the  first  assessment  of  one  and  ten- 
pence  in  the  pound  was  made  on  the  ratepayers, 
they  rose  in  instant  rebellion.  Letters  in  the 
local  papers  could  not  ease  the  smart.  They 
must  have  the  blood  of  the  whole  town  council, 
and  specially  of  the  bailies.  The  provost  was 
held  to  be  a  decent  man  who  had  been  led  into 
this  bad  business  against  his  will.  This  provost 
was  the  paragon  of  provosts.  He  spoke  broad 
Scots,  and  spoke  it,  too,  with  a  rollicking  local 
accent  which  went  straight  to  the  heart  of  every 
Maitland  man  and  woman.  He  had  wrinkles 
round  his  eyes,  and  the  meditative  way  with  him 
which  all  meal  millers  achieve  from  leaning  their 
elbows  on  the  lower  halves  of  their  mill-doors. 
He  sometimes  came  to  the  council  with  the  white 
dust  of  his  profession  emphasizing  his  homeliness. 
The  Reverend  Boanerges  Simpson  had  a  pique  at 
the  provost.  The  trenchant  Doric  sense  of  the 
layman  cut  through  the  pretentious  unction  of 
the  cleric  like  a  knife  through  soap.  But  hitherto 
the  opposition  had  been  private,  for  the  provost 
had  the  strange  taste  to  prefer  the  invisible  and 
incompatible  wife  to  the  active  and  brilliant 
husband. 


156  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

The  matter  of  the  municipal  buildings  came  to 
a  head  over  the  town  bell.  There  was  an  indig- 
nation meeting  summoned  by  aggrieved  rate- 
payers, and  all  the  correspondents  of  the  local 
newspapers  attended  in  force.  The  Reverend 
Boanerges  Simpson  proposed  the  first  resolution, 
"  That  it  is  the  opinion  of  this  meeting  that  the 
proposal  to  waste  the  ratepayers'  money  in  a  bell 
to  be  used  for  profane  purposes  is  subversive  of 
all  morality  and  good  government,  and  the  provost 
and  magistrates  (except  Councillor  MacBean  of 
the  Third  Ward,  who  voted  against  it),  are  re- 
quested to  resign  forthwith."  The  Reverend 
Boanerges  was  not  so  fluent  as  usual.  His  forte 
was  the  pulpit.  He  liked  to  keep  himself  before 
the  public,  but  he  lacked  in  a  gathering  of  men 
his  personal  following  of  old  ladies,  and  had  not 
quite  his  usual  nerve  in  consequence.  The  motion 
was,  however,  unanimously  carried,  and  that  with 
great  acclamation.  Resolution  after  resolution 
was  carried,  each  more  sweeping  than  the  last. 
Enthusiastic  indignation  rose  feverishly  till  the 
burgesses  were  almost  committed  to  burning  the 
magistrates  in  front  of  their  own  doors.  Now  the 
provost  had  been  all  day  from  home,  and  did  not 
hear  of  the  meeting  till  some  time  after  his 
return. 

"  Til  gie  myseP  a  bit  wash  an'  gang  doon,"  he 
said,  quietly. 


BOANERGES   SIMPSON'S   ENCUMBRANCE.      157 

When  he  stepped  on  the  platform  he  was 
received  with  a  storm  of  howls.  The  meeting 
would  not  hear  him.  Councillor  MacBeau,  who 
had  the  credit  of  being  able  to  swing  the  Third 
Ward  like  a  dead  cat,  and  who  thought  of  stand- 
ing for  provost,  led  the  groans. 

The  provost  waited  smiling.  He  dusted  the 
meal  from  the  creases  of  his  coat,  and  brushed  up 
his  gray  soft  hat  with  his  elbow.  He  even  got 
out  his  knife  to  pare  his  nails.  At  last  he  got  in 
a  word,  and  as  soon  as  ever  his  sonorous  steady 
Scots  was  heard,  the  storm  fell  to  a  dead  calm, 
for  the  only  man  who  could  sway  a  Maitland  audi- 
ence was  on  his  feet,  and  the  provost  knew  that 
the  hearts  of  these  men  were  like  wax  in  his 
hands.  This  was  the  matter  of  his  speech: 

"  My  freens,  Aw  was  up  at  Allokirk  the  day, 
an'  div  ye  ken  what  the  craiturs  war  sayin'  ?  Na, 
ye'll  no'  believe  me  gin  Aw  tell  ye.  The  as- 
surance o'  the  upsetting  creests  is  juist  by 
ordinar'.  Ye  ken  that  Allokirk  can  never  forgie 
Maitland  for  bein'  a  bigger,  bonnier,  aulder  toon, 
and  for  haein'  the  kings  an'  queens  o'  braid  Scot- 
land lying  in  oor  aibbey  yaird  ower  by.  Wha 
but  a  wheen  Allokirk  jute  fowk  an'  ither  upstart 
tinkler  bodies  wad  lie  ablow  the  jow  o'  the  Allo- 
kirk bell—" 

Cries  of  "  Come  to  the  point ! "  "  We  dinna 
want  to  hear  aboot  Allokirk.  It's  aboot  oor  ain 


158  THE  STICKIT    MINISTER. 

bell  we  want  to  hear."  "  Ye'll  no'  throw  stoor  in 
oor  een,  provost ! " 

"  Bide  a  wee ;  I'm  juist  comin'  to  that.  This  is 
what  the  Allokirk  fowk  were  sayin'.  Ye  ken  the 
thocht  o'  oor  braw  new  toon  buildin'  is  juist  gall 
and  wormwud  to  them.  They  ken  that  their  toon 
hall  wadna  be  a  back  kitchen  to  the  Maitland 
fowk's,  an'  sae,  to  even  themsel's  to  us,  what  hae 
the  blasties  dune  but  gotten  a  bell  to  hing  in  their 
bit  toorock — a  twenty-ton  bell,  nae  less.  An', 
says  they,  the  like  o'  that  bell  wull  never  ring  in 
Maitland  toon !  Na,  the  puir,  feckless,  bankrupt 
bodies  o'  Maitland,  wi'  their  thread  an'  their  coals, 
canna  afford  sic  a  bell  as  Allokirk  has !  Whatna 
answer  wull  ye  gie  back,  ma  Men's  ?  Wull  ye 
let  Allokirk  craw  ower  you  ?  "Wull  ye  sit  doon 
like  Henny-penny  in  the  hornbuik,*  wi'  your 
finger  in  your  mooth  ?  Na,  ye're  Maitland  men, 
and  as  sure  as  yer  provost  is  a  Maitland  man, 
we'll  hing  a  thirty-ton  bell  in  oor  braw  too'er,  and 
ilka  jow  o't,  soondin'  across  the  water,  wull  tell 
the  Allokirk  bodies  that  they're  but  cauld  kail  an' 
soor  dook  beside  the  burgers  o'  the  Auld  Gray 
Toon ! " 

The  meeting  here  rose  in  a  frenzy.  The  thirty- 
ton  bell  was  voted.  MacBean  was  put  out  feet 
foremost  for  moving  the  previous  question,  and 

*  A  picture  in  the  old-fashioned  child's  primer. 


BOANERGES   SIMPSON'S   INCUMBRANCE.      159 

the  Reverend  Boanerges  Simpson  went  home  to 
bring  his  wife  to  a  sense  of  her  position. 

After  this  the  provost  was  more  inclined  than 
before  to  like  his  worsted  antagonist,  and  even 
got  into  the  habit  of  attending  the  Church  of  St. 
Tudno. 

What  bothered  him  most  was  the  quality  ot 
the  sermons  of  the  Reverend  Boanerges  Simpson. 
They  were  certainly  full  of  a  subtle  sympathy 
with  the  suffering  and  down-trodden.  An  ex- 
quisite pathos  welled  through  them.  It  was  a 
remarkable  fact  that  many  of  the  most  impartial 
and  intelligent  of  the  congregation  listened  to 
these  productions  with  their  eyes  shut,  in  order 
that  they  might  not  have  the  contrast  of  the 
preacher's  oleaginous  presence  and  his  thrilling 
words.  It  was  also  observed  and  commented 
upon  that  on  the  occasions  when  every  eye  in  the 
church  was  riveted  upon  the  preacher,  his  own 
wife  never  so  much  as  raised  her  eyes  from  the 
bookboard.  This  was  set  down  to  a  nature  averse 
to  the  message  of  grace  which  so  strongly  affected 
others.  The  provost's  sister  called  his  attention 
to  this,  and  even  the  good  man  was  somewhat 
shaken  in  his  belief  in  the  minister's  wife.  What- 
ever her  private  opinion  of  her  husband,  she 
should  certainly  have  shown  her  reverence  for  a 
man  so  highly  gifted  with  a  message. 

Day  by  day,  therefore.  Mrs.  Simpson  shrunk 


160  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

more  and  more  into  her  own  silence.  Isolation 
grew  upon  her  till  she  had  walled  herself  off 
from  her  fellow-creatures.  Then  she  stopped 
going  to  church  at  all,  and  the  Reverend  Boaner- 
ges walked  along  with  the  seraphic  smile  of  a 
martyr  whose  burden  was  almost  more  than  he 
could  bear.  His  sermons  became  too  high-strung 
and  ethereal  for  the  edification  of  the  workaday 
sons  and  daughters  of  men.  What  was  the  most 
extraordinary  thing  of  all,  the  pathos  and  senti- 
ment, the  spiritual  communion  were  so  clearly  a 
personal  experience  of  the  preacher,  that  even 
those  who  had  been  repelled  by  his  personality 
gave  him  credit  for  having  such  communion  with 
the  unseen  as  few  are  privileged  to  attain  to  in 
this  world.  There  was  a  deep  belief  in  Maitland 
that  there  can  be  no  effect  without  a  sufficient 
cause,  for  Maitland  is,  above  all  things,  a  logical 
place.  St.  Tudno's  became  a  place  of  pilgrimage 
from  far  and  near,  and  its  gifted  and  saintly 
minister  seemed  to  be  mellowing  from  a  Boa- 
nerges into  a  John.  It  was  thought  that  what  he 
was  suffering  at  home  was  refining  his  soul.  It 
is  thus  that  the  finest  spirits  are  molded.  The 
provost  was  so  touched  that  he  went  to  ask  his 
pardon  for  any  hasty  expressions  which  he  might 
have  used  in  the  affair  of  the  bell.  Mrs.  Simpson 
received  him  and  listened  with  a  dull  silence  to 
his  frank  and  kindly  words. 


BOANERGES   SIMPSON'S   INCUMBRANCE.      161 

"  Your  guidman  an'  me  haes  oor  differences," 
said  the  provost ;  "  but  I  wull  alloo  that  there's 
naebody  atween  Tweed  an'  Tay  can  come  within 
a  lang  sea  mile  o'  him  for  preachin'.  " 

The  minister's  wife  made  a  strange  reply. 

"  Would  you  say  as  much  a  year  from  now,  if 
many  other  people  were  to  turn  against  him  ? " 
she  asked,  lifting  her  abased  eyes  and  letting 
them  rest  for  a  moment  on  the  kindly  face  of  the 
good  provost. 

"  Aw'm  gye  an'  weel  used  to  stickin'  to  my 
opeenion,"  said  the  meal  miller.  "  Aw  hae  seen 
the  Maitland  fowk's  verdick  come  roon'  to  mine  a 
deal  of  tener  than  mine  whurl  aboot  to  theirs !  " 

"  Then  you'll  be  a  friend  to  my  husband  in  the 
days  to  come,"  she  said,  earnestly. 

"  That  Aw  wull !  "  said  the  provost,  heartily. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson ;  "  thank 
you  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  That  is  what  I've 
been  praying  for.  I'll  sleep  sound  to-night !  " 

And  she  did.  Only  she  forgot  to  awaken  the 
next  morning.  The  funeral  was  a  great  one,  for 
the  sake  of  the  bereaved  man ;  but  every  one  felt 
that  a  barrier  to  the  success  of  the  preacher  had 
been  providentially  removed.  On  the  Sabbath 
following  there  was  such  a  congregation  as  has 
never  been  seen  since  within  the  walls  of  St. 
Tudno's.  The  minister  surpassed  himself.  There 
was  not  a  dry  eye  between  the  topmost  gallery 


162  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

and  the  back  seat  below  the  loft  where  the  provost 
sat.  Now,  in  that  church  it  was  the  custom  of 
the  elders  to  take  in  the  Bible  and  bring  it  out  to 
the  vestry  afterward.  This  they  did  in  rotation. 
It  was  the  provost's  day.  As  he  lifted  the  Bible, 
the  sermon  slid  to  the  floor.  He  picked  it  up, 
glanced  at  it,  and  turned  pale.  Then  he  sat  down 
to  recover  himself.  The  funeral  sermon  wa» 
neatly  written  out  in  Mrs.  Simpson's  own  hand. 

The  Reverend  Boanerges  never  preached  another 
great  sermon — never  one  even  mediocre.  It  was 
said  that  grief  had  permanently  weakened  his 
faculties.  It  is  strange  that  men  cannot  benefit 
by  the  opportunities  which  Providence  makes  for 
them.  There  were  many  who  wondered  that  the 
provost  stood  by  him ;  but  the  meal  miller  was 
not  the  man  to  forget  a  word  passed  to  a  dead 
woman,  and  he  kept  her  secret  well.  He  was 
(and  is)  the  pearl  of  provosts. 

As  for  the  Reverend  Boanerges,  he  married 
again  within  a  year  a  maiden  lady  with  £50,000  in 
consols  and  a  temper — both  her  own.  Her  hus- 
band is  a  man  of  great  reputation.  He  has  retired 
to  a  comfortable  estate  in  the  Highlands,  which 
shows  that  true  merit  is  always  rewarded.  He 
has  since  put  out  two  volumes  of  sermons,  which 
are  allowed  by  the  religious  press  to  be  among 
the  most  subtle  and  suggestive  which  have  been 
published  this  century.  They  ought  to  be  in 


A  KNIGHT-ERRANT  OP  THE  STREETS.      163 

every  preacher's  library.  His  first  wife  had  care- 
fully copied  them  all  out  for  the  printer,  which 
seems  to  be  about  the  only  useful  thing  she  did 
during  her  life.  But  the  funeral  sermon  was 
written  in  the  minister's  large,  sprawling  char- 
acters. There  is  no  monument  over  the  grave  of 
the  first  Mrs.  Simpson,  but  the  provost  often 
walks  out  there  of  an  evening  and  lays  a  white 
rose  upon  it. 


A  KNIGHT-ERRANT  OF  THE  STREETS. 

CLKG  *  KELLY  was  not  of  his  latitude,  and  knew 
it.  He  was  a  Pleasance  laddie,  and  he  lived  in 
one  of  the  garret  rooms  of  a  big  "  land,"  as  full 
of  passages  and  by-ways  as  a  rabbit  warren.  He 
was  not  a  Christian,  was  Cleg  Kelly.  Neither 
was  his  father.  He  said  he  was  a  "  snow-shoveler," 
and  as  his  profession  could  be  carried  on  during  a 
very  limited  number  of  days  in  the  year,  he  made 
his  fellow-citizens  chargeable  for  his  keep  during 
the  rest  of  the  year,  and  personally  collected  the 
needful,  So  his  fellow  citizens  thoughtfully  pro- 
vided for  his  accommodation  a  splendid  edifice  on 
the  side  of  the  Calton — the  same  which  Amer- 

*  "  Cleg  "  means,  in  the  dialect  of  the  Lowlands,  the  small 
common  gad-fly  or  horse-fly. 


164  THE  STICKIT  MINISTEB. 

ican  tourists  wax  enthusiastic  about  as  they 
come  into  the  Scots  metropolis  by  the  North 
British  Railway,  mistaking  its  battlemented 
towers  for  those  of  Edinburgh  Castle. 

Here  Mr.  Timothy  Kelly  occupied  a  beautifully 
clean  and  healthy  apartment  for  at  least  six 
months  in  the  year.  During  this  time  he  worked 
at  a  government  contract,  and  so,  of  course,  could 
not  devote  much  time  to  the  education  of  his  son 
and  heir.  But  Tim  Kelly,  though  a  fascinating 
study,  must  not  tempt  us  away  from  his  equally 
accomplished  son.  As  was  said  at  the  beginning, 
Cleg  Kelly  was  out  of  his  latitude,  and  he  did  not 
like  it.  It  was  Sunday  afternoon,  and  he  had 
been  across  the  narrow  isthmus  of  houses  which 
separates  the  Alps  of  the  Salisbury  Crags  from, 
the  Lombard  plain  of  the  Meadows.  He  had 
been  putting  in  his  attendances  at  five  Sunday 
schools  that  day,  for  it  was  the  leafy  month 
of  June  when  "  trips"  abound,  and  Cleg  Kelly 
was  not  quite  so  green  as  the  summer  foliage ; 
besides  all  which,  about  five  o'clock  there  are  lots 
of  nice  clean  children  in  that  part  of  the  town  on 
their  way  home  from  "  Congregational  "  Sabbath 
schools.  These  did  not  speak  to  Cleg,  for  he 
only  went  to  the  Mission  schools  which  were 
specially  adapted  for  such  as  he.  Also,  he  wore 
no  stockings.  But  Cleg  Kelly  was  not  bashful, 
so  he  readily  spoke  to  them.  He  noted,  especially, 


A  KNIGHT-ERRANT   OF  THE   STREETS.      165 

a  spruce  party  of  three  leaving  a  chemist's  shop 
on  the  shortest  track  between  the  park  and  the 
meadows,  and  he  followed  them  down  through 
the  narrow  defile  of  Gifford  Park — thoughts  of 
petty  larceny  crystallizing  in  his  heart.  Ere 
they  could  escape  through  the  needle's  eye  at  the 
further  end,  Cleg  Kelly  had  accosted  them  after 
his  kind. 

"Hey,  you,  gie's  that  gundy  [toffy],  or  I'll 
knock  your  turnip  heids  thegither ! "  The  three 
lambs  stood  at  bay,  huddled  close  together,  and 
helplessly  bleated  feeble  derisives  at  the  wolf 
who  had  headed  them  off  from  safety ;  but  their 
polite  and  Englishy  tone  was  a  source  of  Homeric 
laughter  to  this  Thersites  of  the  Pleasance.  He 
mocked  their  decent  burgher  attire ;  he  sparred  up 
to  them — his  "  neives  "  describing  stately  circles 
like  a  paddle-wheel — and,  shaking  a  murky  fist 
an  inch  below  their  several  noses,  he  invited  them 
individually  to  "  smell  that,"  and  then  inform 
him  where  they  would  like  it  applied,  together 
with  other  resourceful  amenities,  as  the  auction- 
eer's advertisements  say,  too  numerous  to  men- 
tion. While  the  marauding  wolf  was  thus  at 
play  with  his  innocent  victims,  scorning  their 
feeble  efforts  at  rejoinder,  and  circumventing 
without  difficulty  their  yet  feebler  efforts  at 
flight,  it  so  happened  that  a  member  of  the  city 
force  to  whom  Master  Cleg  Kelly  was  well  known,. 


166  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

Stopped  for  a  moment  to  look  down  the  aristo- 
cratic avenues  of  the  park,  bordered  with  frugal 
lines  of  "  ash  backets  "  for  all  ornament.  The 
coincidence  of  necessity  and  presence  is  remark- 
able, but  not  unprecedented.  He  was  a  young 
officer  of  but  eighteen  months'  standing,  and  his 
district  had  been  previously  in  the  "  Sooth  Back," 
a  district  to  which  the  talent  of  Master  Kelly 
was  indigenous.  Had  the  officer  been  six  months 
more  in  the  service,  he  would  probably  have  con- 
tented himself  with  a  warning  trumpet  noto 
which  would  have  sent  the  enemy  flying;  but  be- 
ing young  and  desirous  of  small  distinctions,  he 
determined  to  "  nab  the  young  scamp  and  take 
him  along."  He  had  full  justification  for  this,  for 
at  this  moment  a  howl  told  that  the  assault  had 
reached  the  stage  of  battery,  and  that  the  young 
"  gundy  "  garroter  was  qualifying  for  the  cat  at 
an  early  age,  by  committing  robbery  with  vio- 
lence. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Cleg  felt  that 
there's  no  place  like  home.  He  was  a  stranger 
in  a  strange  land,  where  he  knew  not  even  the 
walls  that  had  nicks  in  them,  climbable  by  the 
sooty  toe  of  an  eleven-year-old  city  boy.  He 
could  not  tell  whether  any  particular  "  land  "  had 
a  ladder  and  trap-door — valuable  right-of-way 
upon  the  roof.  He  knew  not  the  alleys  which 
gave  double  exit  by  unexpected  elbows,  and  ho 


A  KNIGHT-ERRANT  OP  THE  STREETS.      167 

could  not  shun  those  which  invited  with  fair 
promises,  but  which  were  really  traps  with  no 
way  of  escape.  He  did  not  wish,  in  that  awful 
moment,  that  he  had  been  a  better  boy,  as  his 
young  Sunday-school  teacher  in  Hunker  Court 
had  often  urged  him  to  become ;  what  he  wanted 
was  the  "  Sooth  Back,"  ten  yards  start,  and  the 
rigor  of  the  game.  But  there  was  no  time  for 
meditation,  for  the  heavy-footed  but  alert  young 
"bobby"  was  almost  upon  him.  Cleg  Kelly 
sprung  sideways  and  dived  into  the  first  conven- 
ient entry,  then  skimmed  up  some  steps  that 
wound  skyward,  down  again,  and  along  a  passage 
with  not  a  single  side-turning.  He  heard  his 
pursuer  lumbering  after  him,  and  his  own  heart 
kettle-drumming  in  his  ears.  An  unexpected 
door- way  gave  outward  as  his  weight  came  on 
it,  and  he  found  himself  in  a  curious  court  some- 
where at  the  back  of  St.  Simon  Square,  as  near  as 
he  could  make  out.  There  was  a  strange  square 
block  toward  one  side  of  the  open  space,  round 
which  he  ran;  and,  climbing  up  a  convenient 
roan  or  water  pipe,  he  squirmed  himself  through 
a  stair  window,  crossed  the  landing  of  an  unin- 
habited house,  and  looked  down  on  the  interior  of 
a  court  which  was  well  known  to  him,  from  the 
safe  elevation  of  a  first-floor  window.  As  he 
rested,  panting,  he  said  to  himself  that  he 
"  kenned  where  he  was  noo."  It  was  the  court 


168  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

which  contained  one  of  his  too  numerous  Sunday 
schools.  Hunker  Court  Mission  School  was 
"  scaling."  As  it  was  the  school  where  there  was 
most  "fun,"  it  was  also  the  school  which  was  best 
beloved  by  that  scholar  who  was  duly  enrolled  in 
Miss  Celie  Tennant's  class  [No.  6],  as : 

C.  Kelly,  age  14,  Residence,  200  Pleasance. 

— the  age  being  a  gratuitous  impromptu  on  the 
part  of  Cleg  in  order  to  impress  his  teacher  with  a 
sense  of  his  importance — in  his  own  language, 
"  a  big  lee ! "  "  Fun  "  in  this  mission  school 
meant  chiefly  bombarding  the  teachers  as  they 
ran  the  gantlet  after  the  school  was  dismissed; 
specially  one,  who  for  private  reasons  was  known 
as  "  Pun'  o'  Cannles."  All  this  happened  years 
ago,  and  of  course  there  are  no  such  schools  in 
Edinburgh  now.  But  Celie  Tennant,  a  cheery  lit- 
tle lady  with  the  brightest  eyes  that  Cleg  had 
ever  seen,  had  never  been  molested.  This  day 
Cleg  watched,  with  the  delight  of  the  bird  that 
has  just  escaped  the  fowler's  snare,  the  "  clodding  " 
of  the  teachers,  and  their  discomposed  look  as 
the  missiles  interfered  with  their  dignity.  He 
was  a  connoisseur  in  these  matters,  and  applauded 
critically  as  a  cunningly  directed  cabbage  heart 
dropped  reposefully  into  "  Pun'  o'  Cannles' "  tail 
pockets.  He  remembered  how  his  ears  had  rung 


A  KNIGHT-ERRANT   OF   THE  STEEETS.      169 

under  the  very  hand  which  now  extracted  the 
cabbage  under  a  galling  cross  fire.  He  observed 
how  Humpy  Joe,  the  pride  of  Simon  Square, 
deftly  removed  the  "  lum  hat"  of  the  newest 
teacher,  who  had  yet  to  learn  what  clothes  to 
come  in  when  he  set  out  to  instruct  the  youth  of 
Gifford  Park.  He  saw  with  complaisance  Archie 
Drabble,  the  "de'il"  of  the  school,  prepare  a 
hand  grenade  of  moist  mud  for  the  superintend- 
ent, as  he  thought.  The  young  idea  of  the  city 
needs  not  to  be  taught  how  to  shoot.  He  rubbed 
his  hande  with  glee  to  think  how  juicily  and  sat- 
isfactorily the  "  pyeowe  "  would  spread,  and  he 
became  distinctly  particeps  criminibus  as  the  most 
gleeful  of  accessories  before  the  fact.  But  at  this 
moment  out  walked  his  own  teacher,  Miss  Ten- 
nant,  on  her  way  home  through  Archer's  Hall  by 
way  of  the  Meadows.  Now,  Cleg  Kelly  was 
secretly  and  desperately  in  love  with  his  teacher 
and  he  would  willingly  have  gone  to  school  every 
Sunday,  simply  to  be  scolded  by  her  for  mis- 
behavior. He  found  that  this  was  the  best  way 
to  keep  her  attention  fixed  upon  him ;  and  the 
boy  who  sat  next  him  in  class  had  a  poor  time  of 
it.  It  pleased  Cleg  to  notice  that  his  teacher  had 
a  new  summer  hat  and  dress  on,  one  that  he  had 
not  seen  before.  Cleg  became  sorry,  for  the  first 
time,  that  he  had  waited  to  take  it  out  of  these 
**  softies."  This  was  the  nearest  that  he  ever 


170  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER, 

came  to  repentance.  It  struck  him  that  he  might 
have  looked  at  the  hat  and  dress,  and  the  face 
between,  for  an  hour.  It  is  a  mistake  to  think 
that  boys  do  not  notice  dress.  The  boy,  as  has 
been  said  before  more  than  once,  is  the  father  of 
the  man.  Cleg  was 'complacently  feeling  a  pro- 
prietary interest  in  both  the  summer  hat  and 
bright  print  dress,  when  suddenly  his  eye  caught 
the  slouching  figure  of  Archie  Drabble,  standing 
exactly  beneath.  Cleg's  face  whitened  as  he  took 
in  his  intention.  Could  it  be  to  desecrate  the  spot- 
less hat  and  dress  of  his,  Cleg's,  teacher,  hitherto 
held  inviolate  by  the  strange  chivalry  of  Hunker 
Court  School  ?  .  Small  time  there  was  for  the  true 
knight  to  don  his  armor  and  ride  cap-d-pie  into 
the  lists.  There  was  no  time  to  blow  a  trumpet, 
even  had  one  been  handy.  There  were  no  heralds 
to  announce  the  victory  of  the  champion  of  dis- 
tressed demoiselles ;  but  all  these  could  not  have 
rendered  the  feat  of  arms  (if  so  it  might  be  called 
which  was  most  legs)  more  rounded  and  complete. 
As  the  cowardly  arm  of  the  "  Drabble  " — fit  name 
for  knight  unknightly — paused  a  moment  to 
gather  force  for  the  dastard's  blow ;  and  even  as 
the  unconscious  lady  of  the  Road  Perilous  half 
turned  to  settle  her  skirts  into  a  daintier  swing, 
a  bolt  fell  from  the  blue,  a  deus  from  the  machind 
* — a  small  boy  arrayed  completely  in  two  well- 
Ventilated  garments,  sprung  with  horrid  yell  from 


THE  CANONGATE. 


A  KNIGHT-ERRANT   OF   THE   STREETS.      171 

t  first-floor  window,  and,  sudden  as  Jove's  thun- 
Jerbolt,  struck  the  audacious  Drabble  to  the 
earth.  Then  springing  up,  this  impish  Mercury 
of  Hunker  Court  dowsed  the  prostrate  one  with 
his  own  hand-grenade,  hoisted  him  with  a  grimy 
foot  in  lieu  of  a  petard,  once  more  returned  him 
to  earth  with  that  clinched  organ  to  which  the 
"  softies  "  had  been  invited  to  apply  their  noses. 
Having  performed  a  war  dance  on  the  prostrate 
foe  which  had  small  store  of  knightly  courtesy  in 
it,  Cleg,  with  the  deering-do  of  battle  upon  him, 
dared  the  assembled  mission  to  the  unequal  fray ; 
and,  no  champion  accepting,  presently  took  him- 
self off,  as  unconventionally  as  he  came,  turning 
three  double  cart-wheels  through  the  archway 
that  led  in  the  direction  of  the  Meadows.  So 
uplifted  was  he  by  the  pride  of  success,  that  he 
looked  about  valiantly  for  the  "  bobby."  He  was 
not  in  sight. 

"  It's  as  weel  for  him ! "  said  the  hero  of  bat- 
tles. 

As  Miss  Celie  Tennant  waited  at  her  own  gate 
a  moment  that  afternoon,  she  was  aware,  as  hero- 
ines often  are,  of  the  presence  of  a  hero.  He 
was  small  and  very  dirty,  and  he  stood  by  a  lamp- 
post abstracted,  scratching  one  bare  leg  with  the 
toe  of  the  other  foot.  It  is  a  primeval  attitude, 
and  Sir  John  Lubbock  will  be  able  to  explain  it. 
Something  familiar  caught  the  lady's  attention. 


172  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

"Is  that  you,  Charles?"  she  asked;  "why 
didn't  you  come  to  Sunday-school  to-day  ?  "  She 
was  under  the  impression  that  "  C  "  in  her  roll- 
book  stood  for  Charles.  This  was  a  mistake. 

Charles  gasped  inarticulately,  and  was  under- 
stood to  say  that  he  would  be  on  view  next  Sab- 
bath without  fail. 

Celie  Tennant  patted  him  kindly  on  the  head, 
tripped  gracefully  up  the  steps,  and  paused  to 
not  ere  she  reached  the  door.  Not  till  then  did 
Cleg  Kelly  find  his  tongue. 

"Pit  on  the  new  frock,"  he  said;  "dinna 
be  feared,  Airchie  Drabble'll  throw  nae  mair 
glaur ! " 

"  Thank  you,  Charles  !  "  said  the  summer  hat, 
in  sweet  unconsciousness  of  his  meaning,  as  the 
door  closed.  This  is  how  Cleg  Kelly  began  to  be 
a  Christian. 


THE    PROGRESS    OF  CLEG    KELLY,    MIS- 
SION  WORKER. 

INQUIRING  friends  request  the  latest  news  of 
Mr.  C.  Kelly,  of  the  "  Sooth  Back."  We  are  most 
happy  to  supply  them,  for  Cleg  is  a  favorite 
of  our  own.  Since  we  revealed  how  he  began  to 
become  a  Christian,  Cleg  has  felt  himself  more  or 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY.    173 

less  of  a  public  character ;  but  he  is  modest,  and 
for  several  weeks  kept  out  of  our  way,  apparently 
lest  he  should  be  put  into  another  book.  A  too 
appreciative  superintendent  unfortunately  read 
the  plain  little  story  of  Cleg's  gallant  knight- 
errantry  to  the  senior  division  of  his  sometimes 
school,  and  Cleg  blushed  to  find  himself  famous. 
Consequently  he  left  Hunker  Court  for  good. 

But  for  all  that,  he  is  secretly  pleased  to  be  in 
a  book,  and  having  received  our  most  fervent  as- 
surance that  he  will  not  be  made  into  a  "  tract," 
he  has  signified  that  he  is  appeased,  and  that  no 
legal  proceedings  will  be  taken.  Cleg  does  not  so 
much  mind  a  book — a  book  is  respectable,  but  he 
draws  the  line  on  tracts.  He  says  that  he  is 
"doon  on  them  tracks."  Even  as  a  reformed 
character,  they  raise  the  old  Adam  in  him.  A  good 
lady,  sweeping  by  in  her  carriage  the  other  day, 
threw  one  graciously  to  the  ragged  lad,  who  was 
standing  in  a  moment  of  meditation  pirouetting 
his  cap  on  the  point  of  his  boot,  half  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  that  he  had  actually  a  boot  upon 
his  foot,  and  half  to  intimate  to  all  concerned  that 
he  has  not  become  proud  and  haughty  because  of 
the  fact.  The  good  lady  was  much  surprised  by 
that  small  boy's  action,  and  has  a  poorer  opinion 
than  ever  of  the  "  lower  orders." 

She  is  now  sure  that  there  must  be  some  very 
careful  grading  in  heaven  before  it  can  be  a  com- 


174  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

fortable  place  of  permanent  residence.  Her  Idea 
of  doing  good  has  always  been  to  go  through  the 
houses  of  the  poor  with  the  gracious  hauteur  of  a 
visitant  from  another  and  a  better  world,  and 
to  scatter  broadcast  largesse  of  tracts  and  good 
advice.  The  most  pleasant  way  of  doing  this, 
she  finds,  is  from  a  carriage,  for  some  of  the 
indigent  have  a  way  of  saying  most  unpleasant 
things ;  but  a  pair  of  spanking  bays  can  sweep 
away  from  all  expressions  of  opinion.  Besides, 
tracts  delivered  in  this  way  bring  with  them 
a  sense  of  proper  inferiority  as  coming  from  one 
who  would  say,  "  There,  take  that,  you  poor 
wicked  people,  and  may  it  do  you  good ! "  Cleg 
Kelly  was  "again'  tracks."  But  after  a  single 
moment  of  stupefied  surprise  that  this  woman 
should  insult  him,  he  rushed  for  the  tract.  The 
lady  smiled  at  his  eagerness,  and  pointed  out  to 
her  companion,  a  poor  lady  whose  duty  it  was  to 
agree  with  her  mistress,  the  eager  twinkling  eyes 
and  flushed  face  of  Cleg  as  he  pursued  the  bays. 
Cleg  at  short  distances  could  beat  any  pair  of 
horses  in  Edinburgh.  He  had  not  raced  with 
bobbies  and  fire-engines  for  nothing.  He  was  in 
fine  training,  and  just  as  the  carriage  slackened  to 
turn  past  the  immense  conglomerate  castle  which 
guards  the  St.  Leonard's  Park  entrance,  Cleg 
shot  up  to  the  side  at  which  his  benefactor  sat. 
He  swiftly  handed  her  a  parcel,  and  so  vanished 


THE  PKOGEESS   OF   CLEG   KELLY.         175 

from  the  face  of  the  earth.  There  is  no  safer  hid- 
ing-place than  the  coal- wagons  full  and  empty 
that  stand  in  thousands  just  over  the  wall.  The 
good  lady  opened  the  little  parcel  with  her  usual 
complaisance.  It  was  her  own  tract,  and  it  con- 
tained a  small  selection  of  articles — the  staple 
product,  indeed,  of  the  Pleasance  ash-baskets — 
imprimis,  one  egg-shell  filled  with  herring  bones, 
item — a  cabbage  top  in  fine  gamey  condition,  the 
head  of  a  rat  some  time  deceased,  and  the  tail  of 
some  other  animal  so  worn  by  age  as  to  make 
identificationuncertain.  On  the  top  lay  the  dirt- 
iest of  all  scrawls.  It  said,  "  With  thanks  for  yer 
tracks."  The  lady  fell  back  on  her  cushions  so 
heavy  that  C-springs  creaked,  and  the  poor  com- 
panion groped  frantically  for  the  smelling-bottle. 
She  knew  that  she  would  have  a  dreadful  time  of 
it  that  night ;  but  her  mistress  has  resolved  that 
she  will  distribute  no  more  tracts  from  her 
carriage,  the  lower  orders  may  just  be  left  to 
perish.  Their  blood  be  on  their  own  heads ;  she 
has  once  and  for  all  washed  her  hands  of 
them. 

Many  people  may  be  of  opinion  that  Cleg  Kelly, 
judging  by  his  first  exploit  this  Friday  morning 
of  which  we  speak,  had  not  advanced  very  far 
along  the  narrow  way  of  righteousness ;  but  this 
was  not  Cleg's  own  opinion.  He  felt  that  he  had 
done  a  good  deed,  and  he  said  within  himself 


176  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

"  Them  ould  women  dae  mair  ill  wi'  their  tracks 
than  twa  penny  gaffs  an'  a  side-show ! " 

Then  Cleg  Kelly  went  on  to  his  next  business. 
It  had  to  do  with  keeping  the  fifth  commandment. 
He  had  heard  about  it  the  Sunday  before,  not 
at  the  forsaken  Hunker  Court,  but  at  a  little  class 
for  boys  at  the  foot  of  the  Pleasance,  in  a  court 
there,  which  his  teacher,  Miss  Celie  Tennant,  was 
organizing  for  lads  of  Cleg's  age  or  a  little  older. 
It  was  a  daring  undertaking  for  one  so  young, 
and  all  her  friends  tried  to  stop  her,  and  called  it 
foolhardy ;  but  Celie  Tennant  being,  as  Cleg  ad- 
miringly said,  "  no'  big,  but  most  michty  plucky,'* 
had  found  out  her  power  in  managing  the  most 
rebellious  larrikins  that  walked  on  hobnails. 
Moreover,  the  work  had  sought  her,  not  she  it. 
Her  praises  had  been  so  constantly  chanted  by 
Cleg  that  she  had  been  asked  to  take  pity  on  a 
number  of  the  "  Sooth  Back  gang,"  and  have  a 
class  for  them  in  the  evenings.  It  was  manifestly 
impossible  to  receive  such  a  number  of  wild  loons 
at  Hunker  Court.  They  were  every  one  upon 
terms  of  open  war  with  the  Gifford  Park  train- 
bands ;  and  had  a  couple  of  them  showed  their 
faces  in  the  neighborhood  at  any  hour  of  the  day 
or  night,  the  "  Cooee-EE  "  of  the  park  would  have 
sounded,  and  fists  and  brickbats  would  have  been, 
going  in  a  couple  of  shakes.  Clearly,  then,  as 
they  could  not  come  to  her  without  breaking  her 


THE  PROGRESS   OP  CLEG   KELLY.          177 

majesty's  peace,  it  was  her  duty  to  go  to  them. 
To  do  them  justice,  they  were  quite  willing  to 
risk  it ;  but  Celie  felt  that  it  would  hardly  be 
doing  herself  justice  to  sow  her  seed  so  very  near 
to  the  fowls  of  the  air.  So  Cleg  proudly  took 
his  friend  down  to  the  "  Sooth  Back,"  where  there 
was  a  kind-hearted  watchman  who  had  occasion- 
ally let  Cleg  sleep  in  some  warm  place  about  the 
"works"  at  which  he  was  on  night  duty.  To 
him  Miss  Tennant  was  introduced,  and  by  him 
was  taken  into  the  presence  of  the  junior  partner, 
who  was  sitting  in  a  very  easy  attitude  indeed,  with 
his  back  against  his  desk,  and  balancing  himself 
precariously  on  one  leg  of  a  stool.  He  effected 
a  descent  successfully,  and  blushed  becomingly,  for 
he  was  a  very  junior  partner  indeed,  and  he  had 
more  than  once  met  Miss  Tennant  at  a  West-end 
evening  party.  But  when  Miss  Celie,  infinitely 
self-possessed,  stated  her  business  in  clear-cut  ac- 
cents of  maidenly  reserve,  the  Very  Junior  Partner 
instantly  manifested  almost  too  great  an  interest 
in  the  concern,  and  offered  the  use  of  a  disused 
store-room  where  there  was  a  good  fireplace. 

"I  shall  see  to  it,  Miss  Tennant,"  he  said,  "that 
there  is  a  fire  for  you  there  whenever  you  wish 
to  use  the  room." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Iverach,"  returned  Celie,  with 
just  the  proper  amount  of  gratitude,  "  but  I  would 

12 


178  THE  STICKIT  MTNISTISB. 

not  dream  of  troubling  you.  One  of  my  boys  will 
do  that." 

The  Very  Junior  would  have  liked  to  say  that 
he  did  not  consider  it  quite  the  thing  for  a  young 
lady  to  be  in  the  purlieus  of  the  "  Sooth  Back  " 
after  nightfall.  Indeed,  he  would  have  been  glad 
to  offer  his  escort ;  but  he  did  not  say  so,  for  he 
was  a  very  nice  Junior  Partner  indeed,  and  his  in- 
genuous blush  was  worth  a  fortune  to  him  as  a 
certificate  of  character.  He  therefore  contented 
himself  with  saying : 

"  If  there  is  anything  that  I  can  do  for  you, 
you  will  always  be  good  enough  to  let  me  know." 

Celie  Tennant  thanked  him,  and  gave  him  her 
hand.  He  came  as  far  as  the  street  with  her,  but 
did  not  offer  to  see  her  home.  He  was  no  fool, 
though  so  Very  Junior  a  Partner. 

Celie  Tennant  established  her  night-school  hi 
the  Sooth  Back  with  Cleg  Kelly  as  her  man 
Friday.  Cleg  showed  at  once  a  great  faculty  for 
organization,  and  he  added  the  function  of  police 
to  his  other  duties.  On  the  principle  of  "  Set  a 
thief,"  etc.,  he  ought  to  have  made  the  best  of 
policemen,  and  so  he  did.  He  was  not  by  any 
means  the  biggest  or  the  heaviest,  but  he  had  far 
more  wild-cat  in  him  than  any  of  his  mates. 
Once  he  had  taken  the  gully  on  the  Salisbury 
Crags  on  his  way  to  safety,  when  he  was  too  much 
pressed  by  force  of  circumstances  to  go  round  the 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY.    179 

ordinary  way;  and  it  was  quite  an  everyday 
habit  of  his  to  call  upon  his  friends  by  way  of  the 
roof  and  the  skylights  therein. 

Celie  Teunant  was  opening  her  night-school  this 
Friday  evening,  and  Cleg  Kelly  was  on  his  way 
thither  to  get  the  key  from  the  porter,  his  good 
friend  at  most  times.  He  knew  where  there  was 
an  old  soap-box  which  would  make  rare  kindling, 
and  he  had  a  paraffine  cask  also  in  his  mind, 
though  as  yet  he  had  not  made  any  inquiries  as 
to  the  ownership  of  this  latter.  On  his  way  he 
rushed  up  to  the  seldom -visited  garret  that  was 
the  domicile  of  his  parent,  Mr.  Timothy  Kelly, 
when  he  came  out  of  jail.  During  these  intervals 
Cleg  withdrew  himself  from  night  quarters,  only 
occasionally  reconnoitering  the  vicinity,  if  he 
wanted  any  of  his  hidden  treasures  very  keenly, 
He  had  as  many  as  twenty  "  hidie-holes  "  in  the 
floor,  walls,  eaves,  and  roof  of  the  wretched  dwell- 
ing that  was  his  only  home.  Some  of  these  his 
father  frequently  broke  into,  and  scattered  his 
poor  horde,  confiscating  the  coppers,  and  sending 
the  other  valuables  through  the  glassless 
windows,  but  on  the  whole  Cleg  could  beat  his 
parent  at  the  game  of  hide-and-seek.  When  the 
evening  came,  however,  Cleg  hovered  in  the 
neighborhood  till  he  saw  whether  his  father  went 
straight  from  his  lair,  growling  and  grumbling, 
to  Hare's  Public,  or  remained  in  bed  on  the  floor 


180  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

with  certain  curious  implements  around  him.  If 
the  latter  were  the  case,  Cleg  vanished,  and  was 
seen  no  more  in  the  neighborhood  for  some  days, 
because  he  knew  well  that  his  father  was  again 
qualifying  for  her  majesty's  hospitality,  and  that 
was  a  business  he  always  declined  to  be  mixed  up 
in.  He  knew  that  his  father  would  in  all  proba- 
bility be  "  lagged  "  by  the  morrow's  morn.  Cleg 
hoped  that  he  would  be,  and  the  longer  sentence 
his  father  got  the  better  pleased  his  son  was. 
Once  when  Timothy  Kelly  got  six  months  for 
house-breaking,  a  small  boy  was  ignominiously 
expelled  from  the  back  benches  of  the  court  for 
saying,  "  Hip,  hooray !  "  It  was  Cleg.  His 
father,  however,  heard,  and  belted  him  for  it 
unmercifully  when  he  came  out,  saying  between 
every  stroke  and  bound,  "  Take  that,  ye  sorra ! 
Was  it  for  this  I  brought  yez  up,  ye  spalpeen  o' 
the  wurrld  ?  An'  me  at  all  the  trubble  an'  ex- 
pinse  av  yer  rearin' — you  to  cry  '  hooroosh '  when 
yer  own  father  got  a  sixer  in  quod.  Be  me  con- 
science an'  sleeve-buttons,  but  I'd  be  doin'  my 
duty  but  poorly  by  Father  Brady  an'  the  Tin 
Commandments  if  I  didn't  correct  yez ! " 

So  nobody  could  say  that  Cleg  was  not  well 
brought  up. 

If,  however,  Cleg  saw  his  father  take  the  straight 
road  for  the  public,  he  knew  that  there  was  still 
a  shot  in  the  old  man's  locker,  and  that  there  were 


THE  PKOGRESS  OP  CLEG  KELLY.    181 

enough  of  the  "  shiners  for  another  booze,"  as  it 
was  expressed  classically  in  these  parts.  He  be- 
took himself  to  his  own  devices,  therefore,  till 
closing  time ;  but  about  eleven  o'clock  he  began 
to  haunt  the  vicinity  of  Hare's,  and  to  peep  with- 
in whenever  the  door  opened.  On  one  occasion 
he  opened  the  door  himself,  and  nearly  got  his 
head  broken  with  the  pound  weight  that  came 
toward  it.  They  did  not  stand  on  ceremony  with 
small  boys  in  that  beershop.  They  knocked  them 
down,  and  then  inquired  their  errand  afterward. 
The  landlord  came  from  Jedburgh. 

When  his  father  came  out  of  the  public,  Cleg 
saw  him  home  in  original  fashion.  He  had  a 
curiously  shaped  stick  which  he  employed  on 
these  occasions.  It  was  the  fork  of  a  tree  that  he 
had  got  from  a  very  kind  builder  of  the  neighbor- 
hood whose  name  was  Younger.  This  stick  was 
only  produced  at  such  times,  and  the  police  of  the 
district,  men  with  children  of  their  own,  and  .a 
kindly  blind  eye  toward  Cleg's  ploys  when  not 
too  outrageous,  did  not  interfere  with  his  mani- 
festations of  filial  piety.  Indeed,  it  was  none 
such  a  pleasant  job  to  take  Tim  Kelly  to  the  lock- 
up, even  with  "The  Twist"  on  him,  and  Cleg 
harassing  the  official  rear  with  his  crooked  stick. 
So  they  generally  let  the  father  and  son  alone, 
though  every  now  and  then  some  energetic  young 


182  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

man,  new  to  the  district,  interfered.  He  did  it 
just  once. 

Having  seen  his  father  safely  into  Hare's,  Cleg 
went  down  the  Pleasance  with  a  skip  and  a  jump 
to  light  his  fire.  He  found  another  boy  haling  off 
his  soap-box.  Cleg  threw  a  "  paver  "  to  halt  him, 
much  as  a  privateer  throws  a  shot  athwart  the 
bows  of  a  prize  as  a  signal  to  slacken  speed.  The 
boy  turned  instantly,  but  seeing  Cleg  coming  with 
the  swiftness  of  the  wind,  and  his  conscience  tell- 
ing him  that  he  could  make  good  no  claim  to  the 
soap-box;  knowing,  moreover,  that  Cleg  Kelly 
could  "  lick  him  into  shivereens,"  he  abandoned 
his  prize  and  took  to  his  heels,  pausing  at  a  safe 
distance  to  bandy  epithets  and  information  as  to 
ancestors  with  Cleg.  But  Cleg  marched  off  with- 
out a  word,  which  annoyed  the  other  boy  much 
more  than  the  loss  of  the  box.  That  was  the  fort- 
une of  war,  but  what  would  happen  if  Cleg  Kelly 
took  to  getting  proud?  He  stood  a  moment  hi 
thought.  A  light  broke  on  him.  Cleg  had  a  pair 
of  boots  with  a  shine  on  them.  He  had  it.  That 
was  the  reason  of  this  aristocratic  reserve. 

The  lads  who  came  to  the  class  .first  that  night 
were  few  and  civil.  The  bulk  of  the  better  boys 
were  working  in  shoe  factories  in  the  suburbs, 
and  could  not  get  there  at  seven.  That  was  a 
full  hour  too  early  for  them,  and  the  lads  who 
arrived  were  there  simply  "  on  for  a  lark."  But 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY.    183 

they  did  not  know  Miss  Cecilia  Tennant,  and  they 
had  reckoned  without  Mr.  C.  Kelly,  who  had  re- 
solved that  he  would  be  hawk  to  their  larks.  The 
half  dozen  louts  sat  lowering  and  leering  in  the 
neat  and  clean  store- room  in  which  the  Very 
Young  Partner,  Mr.  Donald  Iverach,  had  arranged 
with  his  own  hand  a  chair,  a  table,  and  a  good 
many  forms,  which  he  had  been  at  the  expense 
of  sending  the  porter  to  buy  from  the  founder  of 
a  bankrupt  sect  who  lately  had  had  a  meeting- 
house left  on  his  hands.  The  Very  Youngest  was 
prepared  to  say  that  he  had  "  found  "  these  lying 
about  the  premises,  had  he  been  questioned  about 
the  matter.  And  so  he  had,  but  the  porter  had 
put  them  there  first.  But  Celie  Tennant  took 
what  the  gods  had  sent  her,  and  asked  no  ques- 
tions ;  though,  not  being  simpler  than  other  young 
women  of  her  determination  of  character,  she  had 
her  own  ideas  as  to  where  they  came  from.  Celie 
asked  the  company  to  stand  up  as  she  entered, 
which  with  some  nudging  and  shuffling  they  did, 
whereupon  she  astounded  them  by  shaking  hands 
with  them.  This  set  them  rather  on  their  beam- 
ends  for  a  moment,  and  they  did  not  recover  any 
power  for  mischief  till  Celie  asked  them  to  close 
their  eyes  during  prayer.  Standing  up  at  her 
desk,  she  folded  her  little  hands  and  closed  her 
own  eyes  to  ask  the  God  whom  she  tried  to  serve 
(surely  a  different  God  from  the  one  whom  the 


184  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

tract-scattering  woman  worshiped),  to  aid  her 
and  help  the  lads.  Cleg  Kelly  watched  her  with 
adoring  eyes.  He  had  heard  of  the  angels.  She 
had  often  told  him  about  them,  but  he  privately 
backed  his  teacher  against  the  best  of  them. 
When  Celie  opened  her  eyes  no  one  was  visible 
save  Cleg,  who  stood  with  his  eyes  aflame.  The 
class  had  vanished. 

"  The  dirty  bliggards,"  said  Cleg,  the  tongue  of 
his  father  coining  back  to  him  in  his  excitement, 
"  I'll  bring  them  up  to  the  scratch  by  the  scruff 
av  their  impident  necks ! " 

So  he  darted  underneath  the  forms,  and  shortly 
reappeared  with  a  couple  of  much  bigger  boys 
clinging  on  to  him,  and  belaboring  him  with  all 
their  might.  Wrestling  himself  clear  for  a  mo- 
ment, Cleg  dashed  up  the  green  blind  which 
covered  the  small  single-pane  window  in  the  gable, 
and  turned  at  bay.  The  two  whom  he  had  brought 
up  from  the  depths  made  a  dash  at  him  as  he 
passed,  overturned  the  teacher's  table  in  their 
eagerness  to  prevent  him  from  getting  to  the 
door ;  but  it  was  not  the  door  that  Cleg  wanted 
to  reach.  It  was  his  crook,  which  he  had  cun- 
ningly hitched  to  the  back  of  the  teacher's  chair. 
With  that  he  turned  valiantly  at  bay,  making 
the  table  a  kind  of  fortification. 

"  Sit  down,  miss,"  he  said,  reassuringly ;  "  I'll 
do  for  them,  shure." 


THE  PROGKESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY.    185 

At  this  moment  the  outer  door  opened,  and  his 
friend,  the  night-watchman,  arrived  armed  with 
a  formidable  stick,  the  sight  of  which,  and 
the  knowledge  that  they  were  trapped,  took  all 
the  tucker  out  of  these  very  cowardly  young 
men. 

"  It  was  only  a  bit  of  fun,  Cleg ! "  they 
whined. 

"  Get  out  av  this ! "  shouted  Cleg,  dancing  in 
his  fury  ;  and  out  of  this  they  got,  the  watchman's 
stick  doing  its  duty  as  they  passed,  and  his  dog 
hanging  determinedly  on  to  their  ankles. 

What  surprised  them  most  was  a  sudden  and 
unexpected  hoist  they  each  received,  apparently 
from  the  door  of  the  yard,  which  deposited  them 
on  the  street  with  their  systems  considerably 
jarred.  The  Very  Junior  Partner  smiled  thought- 
fully as  he  rubbed  his  toe.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  wished  that  he  had  worn  boots  larger 
and  heavier.  "  But  'twill  suffice,  'twill  serve ! " 
he  quoted,  as  he  turned  away  into  his  office ;  for, 
by  a  strange  coincidence,  he  was  working  late 
that  night.  The  Senior  Partner  knew  that  he 
had  given  up  an  engagement  to  go  to  a  dance 
that  evening  in  order  to  work  up  some  business 
that  had  been  lying  over.  He  rubbed  his  hands 
delightedly. 

"  Donald  is  taking  to  the  business  at  last,"  ho 
told  his  wife  as  they  prepared  for  bed. 


186  THE  BTICKIT  MINISTER. 

Celie  had  taken  no  part  in  the  scene,  but  she 
was  far  too  energetic  and  fearless  a  young  woman 
to  remain  long  quiescent.  She  went  round  the 
benches,  and  as  she  came  in  sight  of  each  grovel- 
ing lout  she  ordered  him  to  get  up,  and,  abashed 
and  cowed,  they  rose  one  by  one  to  their  feet. 
The  dust  of  the  floor  had  made  no  apparent 
change  in  their  original  disarray.  They  stood 
grinning  helplessly  arid  inanely,  like  yokels 
before  a  show  at  a  country  fair ;  but  there  was  no 
heart  in  their  affectation  of  mirth.  The  discom- 
fiture of  their  comrades,  and  the  sound  of  the 
watchman's  oak  "rung"  had  been  too  much  for 
them.  Then,  for  five  lively  minutes,  Miss  Cecilia's 
tongue  played  like  lambent  lightning  about  their 
ears,  and  they  visibly  wilted  before  her. 

It  was  now  eight  o'clock,  and  the  genuine  mem- 
bers of  the  class  began  to  put  in  an  appearance, 
and  each  of  them  was  welcomed  with  the  most 
friendly  of  greetings  from  the  teacher;  and  as 
each  passed,  Cleg's  left  eyelid  drooped  suddenly 
upon  his  cheek,  so  decorously  that  no  one  could 
call  it  a  wink.  The  four  malcontents  moved  for 
the  door,  but  the  clear  voice  of  Miss  Tennant 
brought  them  to  a  stand. 

"  Sit  down,  all  of  you,  and  speak  to  me  at  the 
close  of  the  class." 

So  they  sat  down,  being  well  aware  that  they 
had  not  a  sympathizer  in  the  room.  It  had 


THE  PROGRESS   OF   CLEG   KELLY.          187 

been  their  intention  to  "  raise  a  dust "  before  the 
arrival  of  the  factory  brigade,  and  then  to  get 
clear  off ;  and,  barring  Cleg  Kelly,  they  would 
have  done  it.  Cleg  did  not  yet  go  to  the  factory, 
for  the  manager  would  not  believe  that  he  was 
thirteen,  though  Cleg  had  told  him  so  times  with- 
out number;  he  had  even  on  one  occasion 
stretched  a  point  and  as  vainly  tried  fourteen. 
Cleg  Kelly  went  to  school  ever  since  he  became  a 
reformed  character ;  but  not  every  day,  so  as  to 
prevent  the  teacher  from  becoming  too  conceited. 
However,  he  looked  in  occasionally  when  he  had 
nothing  better  to  do.  If  he  were  cold  when  he 
entered,  in  about  half  an  hour  he  was  quite 
warm. 

What  Celie  Tennant  said  to  these  four  louts 
will  never  be  known — thy  have  never  told  ;  but  it 
is  sufficient  to  say  that  they  became  pillars  of  the 
"  Sooth  Back  "  Mission  and  Night  School,  and 
needed  no  more  attention  than  any  of  the  others. 

The  Very  Junior  Partner  and  Cleg  Kelly  both 
saw  home  the  teacher  that  night,  walking  close  to- 
gether ;  though,  of  course,  entirely  ignoring  each 
other,  each  some  hundred  yards  behind  Miss 
Tennant,  who  walked  serene  in  the  consciousness 
of  lonely  courage,  her  roll-book  in  one  hand  and 
her  skirt  daintily  held  in  the  other,  walking  with 
that  charming  side-swing  which  both  her  escorts 
thought  adorable.  They  did  not  communicate 


188  THE   STICKIT  MINISTER. 

this  to  each  other.  On  the  contrary,  Cleg  took  a 
"gob"  of  hard  mud  in  his  hand,  and  stood  a 
moment  in  doubt,  dividing  the  swift  mind, 
whether  or  no  to  "  bust  the  swell's  topper  in." 
But  a  consciousness  of  the  excellence  of  that 
young  man's  intentions  preserved  the  shiny 
crown  which  it  had  cost  a  shilling  to  have  ironed 
that  morning  at  the  Shop-up-three-Steps  at  the 
corner  of  the  North  Bridge.  The  Very  Junior 
liked  to  go  spruce  to  business. 

On  his  return  to  the  yard,  Cleg  Kelly  found 
that  his  day's  work  was  not  yet  done.  One  of 
his  special  chums  came  to  tell  him  that  "  Hole  i' 
the  Wa',"  the  biggest  of  the  louts  first  expelled, 
was  thirsting  for  his  blood,  and  had  dared  him  to 
fight  him  that  very  night.  Now,  had  Cleg  been 
more  advanced  in  reformation,  he  would  of  course 
have  refused,  and  given  his  voice  for  peace ;  but 
then,  you  see,  he  was  only  a  beginner.  He  sent 
his  friend  to  tell  "  Hole  i'  the  Wa'  "  that  he 
would  wait  for  him  in  the  "  Polisman's  Yard." 
This  was  a  court  at  the  back  of  a  police  station 
in  the  vicinity,  which  could  only  be  entered  by  a 
low  "pend"  or  vaulted  passage,  though  com- 
manded from  above  by  the  high  windows  of  the 
station-house.  It  had  long  been  a  great  idea  of 
Cleg's  to  have  a  battle  royal  under  the  very  nose 
of  the  constituted  authority  of  the  city.  Thither 
be  resorted,  and  in  a  little  a  crowd  of  his  friends 


THE  PROGRESS   OF   CLEG  KELLY.          189 

and  his  foes  followed  him,  all  protesting  that  he 
could  not  mean  to  fight  so  near  to  the  "bob- 
bies' "  abode.  But  Cleg  unfolded  his  scheme, 
which  instantly  placed  him  on  the  giddy  apex  of 
popularity.  He  got  them  to  roll  a  heavy  barrel 
•which  stood  in  one  corner  of  the  yard  into  the 
"  pend,"  which  it  almost  completely  blocked  up, 
and  he  himself  fixed  it  in  position  with  some  of 
the  great  iron  curved  shods  which  the  lorryraen 
used  to  stop  their  coal  wagons  on  the  steep  streets 
of  the  southside.  It  stood  so  firm  that  nothing 
short  of  dynamite  could  have  shifted  it. 

The  fight  proceeded,  but  into  its  details  we 
need  not  enter.  It  was  truly  Homeric.  Cleg 
flitted  here  and  there  like  the  active  insect  from 
which  he  got  his  name,  and  stung  wherever  he 
could  get  an  opening.  The  shouts  of  the  specta- 
tors might  have  been  heard  in  that  still  place  for 
the  better  part  of  a  mile,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
all  the  police  who  were  on  duty  were  thundering 
on  the  barrel,  and  all  those  who  had  been  in  bed 
manned  the  windows  in  dishabille,  and  threatened 
the  combatants  and  spectators  by  name. 

Cleg  Kelly,  dancing  ever  more  wildly  round 
his  adversary,  revolving  his  fists  like  the  spokes 
of  a  bicycle,  shouted  defiance. 

"  Come  on,  Hole,"  he  cried,  "  ye're  no'  worth  a 
buckie  at  fechtin ! "  and  as  he  circled  near  the 
"pend,"  and  heard  the  heaves  of  the  laboring 


190  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

officers  of  justice,  he  called  out:  "You,  Lang, 
shanks,  cast  yer  coat  an'  crawl  through  the  bung; 
ye  micht  ken  that  the  sergeant's  ower  fat.  Hae 
ye  nae  sense  ?  " 

There  was  laughter  aloft  in  the  station  win- 
dows. But  somebody  at  the  outside  had  brought 
a  sledge-hammer,  and  at  the  first  blow  the  barrel 
resolved  itself  into  its  component  staves,  and  the 
police  tumbled  in,  falling  headlong  over  Cleg's 
wagon  clamps. 

Then  there  was  a  wild  scurry  of  the  lads  up  the 
piles  of  casks  and  rubbish  at  the  back  of  the  yard, 
and  over  the  outhouses  and  roofs.  Cleg  was  not 
first  in  getting  away,  but  he  had  studied  the 
locality,  and  he  had  his  plans  cut  and  dried.  He 
would  have  been  ashamed  to  have  been  caught 
now  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  be  a  reformed 
character.  In  half  an  hour  he  was  waiting  with 
crooked  stick  to  "  boost "  his  father  home  when 
he  was  duly  cast  out  of  Hare's  public  at  the  stroke 
of  eleven  as  the  completed  produce  of  that  estab- 
lishment. 

So  in  due  time,  and  with  many  hard  words 
from  Timothy,  they  neared  the  den  which  they 
called  home.  At  the  foot  of  the  long  stair  Tim- 
othy Kelly  lay  down  with  the  grunt  of  a  hog,  and 
refused  to  move  or  speak.  He  would  arise  for  no 
punchings,  however  artistic,  with  the  knobbiest 
portions  of  the  stick,  and  Cleg  paused,  for  the 


THE   PROGRESS   OF   CLEG   KELLY.          191 

first  time  that  day,  almost  in  despair.  A  police- 
man came  round  the  corner,  flashing  the  light  of 
his  bull's-eye  right  and  left.  Cleg's  heart  stood 
still.  It  was  the  lengthy  officer  whom  he  had 
called  "  Langshanks,"  and  invited  to  come  through 
the  bung.  He  feared  that  he  was  too  kenspeckle 
to  escape.  He  went  over  to  him,  and  taking  a 
tug  at  his  hair,  which  meant  manners,  said  : 

"  Please,  officer,  will  ye  gie  me  a  lift  up  the 
stair  wi'  my  farther?" 

The  policeman  whistled  a  long,  low  whistle, 
and  laughed. 

"  Officer !  "  says  he,  "  officer !  Be  the  powers, 
'twas  '  Langshanks '  ye  called  me  the  last  time, 
ye  thief  o'  the  wurrld ! "  said  the  man,  who  was 
of  national  kin  to  Cleg. 

So  they  twain  helped  their  compatriot  unstead- 
ily to  his  den  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"  Ye're  the  cheekiest  young  shaver  I  ivver  saw," 
said  Longshanks,  admiringly,  as  he  turned ;  "  but 
there's  some  good  in  yez !  " 

Cleg  Kelly  locked  the  door  on  the  outside,  said 
his  prayers  like  the  reformed  character  that  he 
was,  and  laid  him  down  on  the  mat  to  sleep  the 
sleep  of  the  just.  The  Junior  Partner  always 
saw  Miss  Tennant  home  after  this.  He  calls  her 
"  Celie  "  now.  She  has  been  meaning  to  tell  him 
for  the  last  month  that  he  must  not  do  so  any 
more. 


192  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER.- 


ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK. 

THE  family  of  the  late  Tyke  M'Lurg  consisted 
of  three  loons  and  a  lassie.  Tyke  had  never  done 
anything  for  his  children  except  share  with  a 
short-lived  and  shadowy  mother  the  responsi- 
bility of  bringing  them  into  the  world.  The  time 
that  he  could  spare  from  his  profession  of  poacher, 
he  had  systematically  devoted  to  neglecting  them. 
Tyke  had  solved  successfully  for  many  years  the 
problem  of  how  to  live  by  the  least  possible  ex- 
penditure of  labor.  Kind  ladies  had  taken  him 
in  hand  time  and  again.  They  had  provided 
clothes  for  his  children,  which  Tyke  had  prima- 
rily converted  into  coin  of  the  realm,  and  indirect- 
ly into  liquid  refreshment,  at  Lucky  Morgan's  rag 
store  in  Cairn  Edward.  Work  had  been  found 
for  Tyke,  and  he  had  done  many  half  days  of 
labor  in  various  gardens.  Unfortunately,  how- 
ever, before  the  hour  of  noon,  it  was  Tyke's  hard 
case  to  be  taken  with  a  "  grooin'  in  his  inside " 
of  such  a  nature  that  he  became  rapidly  incapac- 
itated for  further  work. 

"  No,  mem,  I  canna  tak'  it.  It's  mony  a  year 
since  I  saw  the  evil  o't.  Ye'll  hae  to  excuse  me, 


ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK.      198 

but  I  really  couldna.  Oh,  thae  pains !  Oh,  sirce, 
my  inside !  Weel,  gin  ye  insist,  I'll  juist  hae  to 
try  a  toothfu'  to  oblige  ye,  like." 

But  Tyke's  toothfu's  were  over  for  this  world, 
and  his  shortcomings  were  lying  under  four  feet 
of  red  mold.  Half  a  dozen  kindly  folk  who 
pitied  his  "  three  loons  and  a  lassie  "  gathered  a 
few  pounds  and  gave  him  a  decent  burial,  not  for 
his  own  sake,  but  in  order  that  the  four  little 
scarecrows  might  have  a  decent  start  hi  life.  It 
is  the  most  fatal  and  indestructible  of  reproaches 
in  the  south  of  Scotland  to  have  a  father  buried 
by  the  parish. 

The  lassie  was  the  eldest  of  the  children.  She 
was  thirteen,  and  she  hardly  remembered  what 
it  was  to  have  a  mother  or  a  new  frock.  But 
ever  since  she  was  eleven  she  had  never  had  a 
dirty  one.  The  smith's  wife  had  shown  her  how 
to  wash,  and  she  had  learned  from  the  teacher 
how  to  mend.  "Leeb"  had  appeared  on  the 
books  of  the  school  as  Elizabeth  M'Lurg,  and  she 
had  attended  as  often  as  she  could — that  is,  as 
often  as  her  father  could  not  prevent  her ;  for 
Tyke,  being  an  independent  man,  was  down  on 
the  compulsory  clause  of  the  Education  Act,  and 
had  more  than  once  got  thirty  days  for  assault- 
ing the  school  board  officer. 

When  he  found  out  that  Leeb  was  attending 
school  at  the  village,  he  lay  in  wait  for  her  on  her 
13 


194  THE   STICKIT  MINISTER. 

return,  with  a  stick,  and  after  administering 
chastisement  on  general  principles,  he  went  on  to 
specify  his  daughter's  iniquities : 

"  Ye  upsettin'  blastie,  wad  ye  be  for  gangin'  to 
their  schule,  learnin'  to  look  doon  on  yer  ain 
faither  that  has  been  at  sic  pains  to  rare  ye  " — (a 
pause  for  further  correction,  to  which  poor  Leeb 
vocalized  an  accompaniment).  "  Let  me  see  gin 
ye  can  read !  Hae,  read  that ! "  he  said,  flinging 
a  tattered  lesson  book,  which  the  teacher  had 
given  her,  to  his  daughter.  Leeb  opened  the 
book,  and,  punctuating  the  lesson  with  her  sobs, 
she  read  in  the  high  and  level  shriek  of  a  locomo- 
tive engine,  "And  so  brave  Bobby,  hav'ing 
sa-ved  the  tr-r-i  -em-bling  child,  re-turn-ed  with 
the  res-cu-ed  one  in  his  mouth  to  the  shore." 

"  Davert !  but  ye  can  read ! "  said  her  father, 
snatching  the  book  and  tearing  it  up  before  her 
eyes.  "Noo,  listen;  I'll  hae  nane  o'  my  bairns 
teached  to  despise  their  faither  by  no  school 
boards.  Look  you  here,  Leeb  M'Lurg,  gin  ever 
I  catch  you  within  a  mile  o'  the  schule,  I'll  skin 
ye!" 

But  for  all  this  tremendous  threat,  or  maybe 
all  the  more  because  of  it,  and  also  because  she 
so  much  desired  to  be  able  to  do  a  white  seam, 
Leeb  so  arranged  it  that  there  were  few  days 
when  she  did  not  manage  to  come  along  the  mile 
and  a  half  of  loch-side  road  which  separated  her 


ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK.      195 

from  the  little  one-roomed,  whitewashed  school- 
house  on  the  face  of  the  brae.  She  even  brought 
one  of  the  "  loons  "  with  her  pretty  often ;  but  as 
Jock,  Rob,  and  Benny  (otherwise  known  as  Rag, 
Tag,  and  Bobtail)  got  a  little  older,  they  more 
easily  accommodated  themselves  to  the  wishes  of 
their  parent;  and,  hi  spite  of  Leeb's  blandish- 
ments, they  went  into  "  hidie-holes "  till  the 
school-board  officer  had  passed  by. 

M'Lurg's  Mill,  where  the  children  lived,  was  a 
tumble-down  erection,  beautiful  for  situation,  set 
on  the  side  of  the  long  loch  of  Kenick.  The  house 
had  once  been  a  little  farmhouse,  its  windows 
brilliant  with  geraniums  and  verbenas;  but  in 
the  latter  days  of  the  forlorn  M'Lurgs  it  had  be- 
come betrampled  as  to  its  doorsteps  by  lean  swinOj 
and  bespattered  as  to  its  broken  floor  by  intru- 
sive hens.  It  was  to  M'Lurg's  Mill  that  the 
children  returned  after  the  funeral.  Leeb  had 
been  arrayed  in  the  hat  and  dress  of  a  neighbor's 
daughter  for  the  occasion,  but  the  three  loons  had 
played  "  tig  "  in  the  intervals  of  watching  their 
father's  funeral  from  the  broomy  knoll  behind  the 
mill.  Jock,  the  eldest,  was  nearly  eleven,  and 
had  been  taken  in  hand  by  the  kind  neighbor 
wife  at  the  same  time  as  Leeb.  At  one  time  he 
looked  as  though  he  would  even  better  repay 
attention,  for  he  feigned  a  sleek-faced  submission 
and  a  ready  compliance  which  put  Mistress  Auld 


196  THE  8TICKIT  MINISTER. 

of  the  Arkland  off  her  guard.  Then  as  soon  as 
nis  sister,  of  whom  Jock  stood  much  hi  awe,  was 
gone  out,  he  snatched  up  his  ragged  clothes  and 
fled  to  the  hill.  Here  he  was  immediately  joined 
l)y  the  other  two  loons.  They  caught  the  Ark- 
land  donkey  grazing  in  the  field  beside  the  mill- 
dam,  and  having  made  a  parcel  of  the  good  black 
trousers  and  jacket,  they  tied  them  to  the  donkey 
and  drove  him  homeward  with  blows  and  shout- 
ings. A  funeral  was  only  a  dull  procession  to 
them,  and  the  fact  that  it  was  their  father's  made 
no  difference. 

Next  morning  Leeb  sat  down  on  the  "  stoop  " 
or  wooden  bench  by  the  door,  and  proceeded  to 
cast  up  her  position.  Her  assets  were  not  dif- 
ficult to  reckon.  A  house  of  two  rooms,  one 
devoted  to  hens  and  lumber ;  a  mill  which  had 
once  sawn  good  timber,  but  whose  great  circular 
saw  had  stood  still  for  many  months  ;  a  mill-lade 
broken  down  in  several  places,  three  or  four  chairs 
and  a  stool,  a  table,  and  a  wash-tub.  When  she 
got  so  far  she  paused.  It  was  evident  that  there 
could  be  no  more  school  for  her,  and  the  thought 
struck  her  that  now  she  must  take  the  responsi- 
bility for  the  boys,  and  bring  them  up  to  be  useful 
and  diligent.  She  did  not  and  could  not  so 
express  her  resolve  to  herself,  but  a  still  and 
strong  determination  was  in  her  sore  little  heart 
not  to  let  the  boys  grow  up  like  their  father. 


ENSAMPLES  TO   THE  FLOCK.  197 

Leeb  had  gone  to  Sabbath-school  every  week, 
when  she  could  escape  from  the  tyranny  of  home, 
and  was,  therefore,  well  known  to  the  minister, 
who  had  often  exercised  himself  in  vain  on  the 
thick  defensive  armor  of  ignorance  and  stupidity 
which  encompassed  the  elder  M'Lurg.  His  office- 
bearers and  he  had  often  bemoaned  the  sad 
example  of  this  ne'er-do-weel  family  which  had 
intrenched  itself  in  the  midst  of  so  many  well- 
doing people.  M'Lurg's  Mill  was  a  reproach  and 
an  eyesore  to  the  whole  parish,  and  the  M'Lurg 
"weans"  a  gratuitous  insult  to  every  self-re- 
specting mother  within  miles.  For  three  miles 
round  the  children  were  forbidden  to  play  with, 
or  even  to  speak  to,  the  four  outcasts  at  the  mill. 
Consequently  their  society  was  much  sought 
after. 

When  Leeb  came  to  set  forth  her  resources,  she 
could  not  think  of  any  except  the  four-pound  loaf, 
the  dozen  hens  and  a  cock,  the  routing  wild  Indian 
of  a  pig,  and  the  two  lean  and  knobby  cows  on 
the  hill  at  the  back.  It  would  have  been  possible 
to  have  sold  all  these  things,  perhaps,  but  Leeb 
looked  upon  herself  as  trustee  for  the  rest  of  the 
family.  She  resolved,  therefore,  to  make  what 
use  of  them  she  could,  and  having  most  of  the 
property  under  her  eye  at  the  time,  there  was  the 
less  need  to  indite  an  inventory  of  it. 

But,  first,  she  must  bring  her  brothers  to  a 


198  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

sense  of  their  position.  She  was  a  very  Napoleon 
of  thirteen,  and  she  knew  that  now  that  there  was 
no  counter  authority  to  her  own,  she  could  bring 
Jock,  Rob,  and  Benny  to  their  senses  very  quickly. 
She  therefore  selected  with  some  care  and  atten- 
tion a  hazel  stick,  using  a  broken  table-knife  to 
cut  it  with  a  great  deal  of  deftness.  Having 
trimmed  it,  she  went  out  to  the  hill  to  look  for 
her  brothers.  It  was  not  long  before  she  came 
upon  them  engaged  in  the  fascinating  amusement 
of  rooting  for  pig-nuts  in  a  green  bank-side.  The 
natural  Leeb  would  instantly  have  thrown  down 
her  wand  of  office  and  joined  them  in  the  search, 
but  the  Leeb  of  to-day  was  a  very  different  person. 
Her  second  thought  was  to  rush  among  them  and 
deal  lusty  blows  with  the  stick,  but  she  fortunately 
remembered  that  in  that  case  they  would  scatter, 
and  that  by  force  she  could  only  take  home  one 
or  at  most  two.  She  therefore  called  to  her  as- 
sistence  the  natural  guile  of  her  sex. 

"  Boys,  are  ye  hungry  ?  "  she  said.  "  There's 
sic  a  graun'  big  loaf  come  frae  the  Arkland!" 
By  this  time  all  her  audience  were  on  their  feet. 
«  An'  I'll  milk  the  kye,  an'  we'll  hae  a  feast." 

"  Come  on,  Jock,"  said  Rob,  the  second  loon, 
and  the  leader  in  mischief,  "  I'll  race  ye  for  the 
loaf." 

"  Ye  needna  do  that,"  said  Leeb,  calmly ;  "  the 
door's  lockit." 


ENSAMPLES   TO   THE  FLOCK.  199 

So  as  Leeb  went  along  she  talked  to  her 
brothers  as  soberly  as  though  they  were  models 
of  good  behavior  and  all  the  virtues,  telling  them 
what  she  was  going  to  do,  and  how  she  would 
expect  them  to  help  her.  By  the  time  she  got 
them  into  the  mill-yard,  she  had  succeeded  in 
stirring  their  enthusiasm,  especially  that  of  Jock, 
to  whom  with  a  natural  tact  she  gave  the  wand 
of  the  office  of  "  sairgint,"  a  rank  which,  on  the 
authority  of  Sergeant  M'Millan,  the  village  pen- 
sioner, was  understood  to  be  very  much  higher 
than  that  of  general,  "Sairgint"  Jock  foresaw 
much  future  interest  in  the  disciplining  of  his 
brothers,  and  entered  with  eagerness  into  the 
new  ploy.  The  out-of-doors  livestock  was  also 
committed  to  his  care.  He  was  to  drive  the  cows 
along  the  road-side  and  allow  them  to  pasture 
on  the  sweetest  and  most  succulent  grasses,  while 
Rob  scouted  in  the  direction  of  the  village  for 
supposititious  u  poalismen  "  who  were  understood 
to  take  up  and  sell  for  the  queen's  benefit  all 
cows  found  eating  grass  on  the  public  highway. 
Immediately  after  Jock  and  Rab  had  received  a 
hunch  of  the  Arkland  loaf  and  their  covenanted 
drink  of  milk,  they  went  off  to  drive  the  cows  to 
the  loch  road,  so  that  they  might  at  once  begin 
to  fill  up  their  lean  sides.  Benny,  the  youngest, 
who  was  eight  past,  she  reserved  for  her  own 
assistant.  He  was  a  somewhat  tearful  but  will- 


200  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

ing  little  fellow,  whose  voice  haunted  the  pre- 
cincts of  M'Lurg's  Mill  like  a  wistful  ghost.  His 
brothers  were  constantly  running  away  from  him, 
and  he  pattering  after  them  as  fast  as  his  fat 
little  legs  could  carry  him,  roaring  with  open 
mouth  at  their  cruelty,  the  tears  making  clean 
water-courses  down  his  grimy  cheeks.  But  Ben- 
ny soon  became  a  new  boy  under  his  sister's 
exclusive  care. 

"  Noo,  Benny,"  she  said,  "  you  an'  me's  gaun  to 
clean  the  hoose.  Jock  an'  Rab  will  no'  be  kennin' 
it  when  .they  come  back ! "  So,  having  filled  the 
tub  with  water  from  the  mill-lade,  and  carried 
every  movable  article  of  furniture  outside,  Leeb 
began  to  wash  out  the  house  and  rid  it  of  the 
accumulated  dirt  of  years.  Benny  carried  small 
bucketfuls  of  water  to  swill  over  the  floor.  Grad- 
ually the  true  color  of  the  stones  began  to  shine 
up,  and  the  black  incrustation  to  retreat  toward 
the  outlying  corners. 

"I'm  gaun  doon  to  the  village,"  she  said 
abruptly.  "  Benny,  you  keep  scrubbin'  alang  the 
wa's." 

Leeb  took  her  way  down  rapidly  to  where  Joe 
Turner,  the  village  mason,  was  standing  by  a 
newly  begun  pig-stye  or  swine-ree,  stirring  a  heap 
01  lime  and  sand. 

"  G'ye  way  oot  o'  tnat ! "  he  said,  instantly,  with 
the  threatening  gesture  which  every  villager  ex- 


ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK.  201 

cept  the  minister  and  the  mistress  of  Arkland 
instinctively  made  on  seeing  a  M'Lurg.  This  it 
is  to  have  a  bad  name. 

But  Leeb  stood  her  ground,  strong  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  her  good  intentions. 

"  Maistei  Turner,"  she  said,  "  could  ye  let  me 
hae  a  bucketfu'  or  twa  o'  whitewash  for  the  mill 
kitchen,  an'  I'll  pey  ye  in  hen's  eggs.  Oor  hens 
are  layin'  fine,  an'  your  mistress  is  fond  o'  an  egg 
in  the  mornin'." 

Joe  stopped  and  scratched  his  head.  This  was 
something  new,  even  in  a  village  where  a  good 
deal  of  business  is  done  according  to  the  rules  of 
truck  or  barter. 

"  What  are  ye  gaun  to  do  wi'  the  whitewash  ?  " 
he  inquired,  to  get  time  to  think.  "  There  was 
little  whitewash  in  use  about  M'Lurg's  Mill  in 
yer  faither's  time !  " 

"  But  I'm  gaun  to  bring  up  the  boys  as  they 
should,"  said  Leeb,  with  some  natural  impor- 
tance, sketching  triangles  on  the  ground  with  her 
bare  toe. 

"An'  what's  whitewash  got  to  do  wi'  that?" 
asked  Joe,  with  some  asperity. 

Leeb  could  not  just  put  the  matter  into  words, 
but  she  instinctively  felt  that  it  had  a  good  deal 
to  do  with  it.  Whitewash  was  her  badge  of  re- 
spectability both  inside  the  house  and  out,  in 
which  Leeb  was  at  one  with  modern  science. 


202  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

'I'll  gie  three  dizzeno'  eggs  for  three  bucket- 
fu's,"  she  said. 

"  An'  hoo  div  I  ken  that  I'll  ever  see  ane  o'  the 
eggs?"  asked  Joe. 

"  I've  brocht  a  dizzen  wi  me  noo ! "  said  Leeb, 
promptly,  producing  them  from  under  her  apron. 

Leeb  got  the  whitewash  that  very  night  and 
the  loan  of  a  brush  to  put  it  on  with.  Next  morn- 
ing the  farmer  of  the  Crae  received  a  shock. 
There  was  something  large  and  white  down  on 
the  loch-side,  where  ever  since  he  came  to  the 
Crae  he  had  seen  nothing  but  the  trees  which  hid 
M'Lurg's  Mill. 

"  I  misdoot  it's  gaun  to  be  terrible  weather.  I 
never  saw  that  hoose  o'  Tyke  M'Lurg's  aff  our 
hill  afore ! "  he  said. 

The  minister  came  by  that  day  and  stood  per- 
fectly aghast  at  the  new  splendors  of  the  M'Lurg 
mansion.  Hitherto  when  he  had  strangers  stay- 
ing with  him,  he  took  them  another  way,  in  order 
that  his  parish  might  not  be  disgraced.  Not  only 
were  the  walls  of  the  house  shining  with  white- 
wash, but  the  windows  were  cleaned,  a  piece  of 
white  muslin  curtain  was  pinned  across  each,  and 
a  jug  with  a  bunch  of  heather  and  wild  flowers 
looked  out  smiling  on  the  passers-by.  The  minis- 
ter bent  his  steps  to  the  open  door.  He  could 
see  the  two  M'Lurg  cows  pasturing  placidly  with 
much  contented  head-tossing  on  the  road-side, 


BNSAMPLBS  TO  THE  FLOCK.  203 

while  a  small  boy  sat  above  laboring  at  the  first 
rounds  of  a  stocking.  From  the  house  came  the 
shrill  voice  of  singing.  Out  of  the  fir  wood  over 
the  knoll  came  a  still  smaller  boy  bent  double 
with  a  load  of  sticks. 

In  the  window,  written  with  large,  sprawling 
capitals  on  a  leaf  of  a  copy-book  under  the  head- 
ing "Encourage  Earnest  Endeavor,"  appeared 
the  striking  legend : 


SOWING  &  MENDING  DUN 
GOOD  COWS  MILK 

STICKS  FOR  FIREWOOD  CHEEP 
NEW  LAID  EGGS 

BY  ELIZABETH  MC  LURG 


The  minister  stood  regarding,  amazement  on 
every  line  of  his  face.  Leeb  came  out  singing,  a 
neatly  tied  bundle  of  chips  made  out  of  the  dry 
debris  of  the  saw-mill  in  her  hand. 

"  Elizabeth,"  said  he,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of 
this?" 

"  Will  ye  be  pleased  to  step  ben  ?  "  said  Leeb. 
The  minister  did  so,  and  was  astonished  to  find 
himself  sitting  down  in  a  spotless  kitchen,  the 
walls  positively  painfully  white,  the  wooden 
chairs  scoured  with  sand  till  the  very  fiber  of  the 


204  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

wood  was  blanched,  and  on  a  floor,  so  clean  that 
one  might  have  dined  off  it,  the  mystic  whorls 
and  crosses  of  whiting  which  connect  all  good 
Galloway  housekeepers  with  Runic  times. 

Before  the  minister  went  out  of  JVFLurg's  Mill 
he  had  learned  the  intentions  of  Leeb  to  make 
men  of  her  brothers.  He  said : 

"  You  are  a  woman  already,  before  your  time, 
Elizabeth !  "  which  was  the  speech  of  all  others 
best  fitted  to  please  Leeb  M'Lurg.  He  had  also 
ordered  milk  and  eggs  for  the  manse  to  be  de- 
livered by  Benny,  and  promised  that  his  wife 
would  call  upon  the  little  head  of  the  house. 

As  he  went  down  the  road  by  the  loch-side  he 
meditated,  and  this  was  the  substance  of  his 
thought, "  If  that  girl  brings  up  her  brothers  like 
herself,  Tyke  M'Lurg's  children  may  yet  be  en- 
samples  to  the  flock." 

But  as  to  this  we  shall  see. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  M'LURG'S  MILL. 

ELIZABETH  M'LtrBG  had  been  over  at  the  village 
for  her  groceries.  Dressed  in  her  best— clean- 
pinafored,  lilac-sun-bonneted — she  was  a  comely 
picture.  Half  a  dozen  years  had  made  a  differ- 


THE   SIEGE  OF   M'LURG'S   MILL.  206 

ence  in  the  coltish  lassie  who  had  dragooned  her 
three  loons  of  brothers  into  decency  and  school 
attendance  after  her  father's  funeral.  There  was 
now  not  a  better-doing  family  in  the  parish  than 
that  over  which  the  rule  of  Leeb  M'Lurg  had  the 
unquestioned  force  of  an  autocracy.  Leeb  had 
saved  enough  from  her  cows  and  poultry  to  em- 
ploy Sanny  MacQuhatt,  the  traveling  millwright, 
to  put  the  old  saw-mill  in  order  against  that 
approaching  day  when  John  M'Lurg,  her  eldest 
brother,  would  be  out  of  his  time  at  the  shop  of 
Rob  Johnstone,  joiner  and  cartwright  in  Whunny- 
liggate.  Affairs  had  marched  well  with  the 
M'Lurgs.  Rob,  the  second,  was  still  at  school* 
but  there  was  word  of  his  getting  into  a  Cairn 
Edward  bank  ;  and  it  was  the  desire  of  Leeb's  life 
to  see  her  favorite  Benny  turned  into  a  dominie. 
She  had  already  spoken  to  the  minister  about 
having  him  made  a  pupil  teacher  at  the  next 
vacancy. 

Elizabeth  had  a  word  for  every  one  as  she 
walked  sedately  up  the  narrow,  unpaved  street — 
modest  for  the  minister,  shy  for  young  Will 
Morton,  the  teacher  of  the  village  school  where 
her  brothers  were  alternately  at  the  head  of  the 
highest  class  in  sharp  fraternal  emulation — no 
other  pupil  coining  within  a  mile  of  them ; 
straightforward  with  the  women-folk,  who  came 
to  their  doors  to  look  down  the  street  every  ten 


206  THE   STICKIT  MINISTER. 

minutes  or  so  on  the  chance  of  seeing  a  cadger, 
or  even  a  red  farm-cart,  whose  clanking  passage 
might  break  the  soundless  monotony. 

The  village  lads  would  also  cry,  "  Hoo's  a'  wi' 
ye  the  day,  Leeb  ?  "  in  an  off-hand  way  which  did 
not  conceal  from  that  sharp-eyed  young  woman 
their  desire  to  stand  well  with  her. 

"  She's  the  only  lass  i'  the  parish  that  kens  hoo 
to  lift  her  feet  aff  the  grund,"  said  Saunders 
Paterson  to  Rab  Affleck,  as  they  watched  Leeb's 
progress  up  the  street. 

"Ay,  man,  ye're  richt;  there's  nae  glaur'll 
[mud]  stick  to  Leeb's  coat-tail." 

But  this  morning  many  came  to  look  after  Leeb 
M'Lurg,  of  M'Lurg's  Mill,  who  had  hitherto  paid 
small  attention  to  her  comings  and  goings.  For 
it  was  the  village  talk  that  Timothy  M'Lurg, 
Tyke  M'Lurg's  younger  brother,  otherwise 
known  as  "  Tim  the  Tairger,"  had  come  back, 
and  had  been  seen  and  heard  on  the  skirts  of  the 
public-house  declaring  that  he  had  come  as  trustee 
of  his  brother  to  take  possession  of  M'Lurg's 
Mill,  its  cattle  and  sheep,  house-gear  and  bestial, 
and  to  administer  the  same  for  the  behoof  of  the 
children  of  the  departed.  It  was  a  noble  ambi- 
tion, and  when  declared  among  the  choice  com- 
pany assembled  at  the  "  public,"  it  elicited  warm 
commendations  there,  for  Timothy  M'Lurg  had 
always  spent  other  people's  money  like  a  man. 


THE  SIEGE   OP   M'LURG'S   MILL.  207 

But  when  the  better  spirits  of  the  village  heard 
of  it,  there  were  many  who  grieved  for  the  chil- 
dren who  had  made  so  gallant  a  fight.  So  when 
Elizabeth  M'Lurg  went  up  the  street  that  day 
there  was  many  a  one  who  watched  her  with  a 
wae  heart.  Yet  it  was  not  until  David  Clark,  the 
village  shopkeeper,  had  finished  serving  her  with 
tea  and  sugar  that  he  said  to  Leeb,  in  a  friendly 
way: 

"  I  hear  ye've  gotten  your  uncle  Timothy  back." 
Leeb  whitened  to  the  lips  at  that  name  of  dread. 
She  remembered  the  wild  nights  when  Timothy 
brought  his  companions  with  him,  and  turned  the 
little  world  of  M'Lurg's  Mill  upside  down. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  determined  not  to  show 
any  emotion  to  the  watchful  eyes  of  David  Clark, 
"  I  didna  ken." 

She  spoke  as  though  the  news  were  some  ordi- 
nary and  unimportant  gossip. 

"  Where  has  he  come  frae  ?  "  she  asked. 

David  Clark  knew  that  he  had  come  from  a 
long  sojourn  in  her  majesty's  prisons,  owing  to 
the  death  of  a  keeper  in  one  of  Tim's  poaching 
affrays.  But  David  was  not  a  man  to  commit 
himself  unnecessarily  when  a  well-paying  cus- 
tomer was  concerned. 

"  They  were  sayin'  that  he  was  up  aboot  the 
public,  an'  that  he  cam'  frae  Cairn  Edward  in  the 
bottom  o'  a  coal  cairt." 


THE   STICKIT  MINISTER. 


Calmly  Leeb  settled  her  reckoning  with  the 
eggs  and  butter  which  she  had  brought,  and  re- 
ceived the  balance  in  good  queen's  silver.  Calmly 
she  took  her  sedate  way  down  the  street,  no  step 
discomposed  or  hurried.  But  in  her  heart  there 
was  a  deadly  tumult. 

Her  scheme  of  life,  so  carefully  constructed 
and  so  sturdily  worked  for,  came  tumbling  about 
her  ears.  She  had  no  idea  what  her  uncle's 
powers  might  be — whether  he  could  take  the 
mill  or  claim  the  cows.  She  only  knew  that  he 
would  certainly  do  all  the  ill  he  was  capable  of, 
and  she  thought  of  her  fortress  lying  open  and 
unguarded  at  her  enemy's  mercy,  with  only  old 
Sanny  MacQuhatt  hammering  and  grumbling  to 
herself  over  the  reconstruction  of  the  rickety  saw- 
mill. As  soon  as  she  was  clear  of  the  village 
Leeb  took  to  her  heels,  and  glinted  light  foot 
through  the  poplar  avenues  along  the  skirts  of 
the  bright  June  meadows,  where  the  hemlock  was 
not  yet  overtopped  by  the  meadow-sweet,  as  in  a 
week  or  two  it  would  be. 

She  struck  across  the  hill  above  the  loch,  which 
lay  below  her  rippleless  and  azure  as  the  blue  of 
a  jay's  wing.  The  air  from  off  the  heather  was 
warm  and  honey-scented.  At  the  second  stile, 
when  she  turned  into  her  own  hill  pasture,  some 
vague  fear  struck  her  heart.  She  dared  not  take 
the  first  look  at  the  homestead  which  she  had 


THE  SIEGE  OF   M'LURG'S  MILL.  209 

given  her  young  life  to  make  worthy  of  her  vow 
to  bring  up  her  brothers  as  they  should.  As  she 
set  her  foot  on  the  lowest  stone  of  the  high,  un- 
couth stile  in  the  dry-stone  dike,  something 
grunted  heavily  on  the  other  side. 

There  was  something  so  bestially  human  and 
superfluously  degraded  in  the  noise  that  Leeb 
knew  that  it  could  not  be  produced  by  any  of  the 
"  lower  "  animals.  Gathering  her  skirts  about 
her  for  a  spring,  and  turning  up  a  supercilious 
nose,  she  peeped  over  the  top  of  the  dike.  Be- 
neath her  lay  Tim  M'Lurg,  sleeping  stertorously, 
with  his  head  recumbent  on  the  lowest  step,  by 
which  she  must  descend.  A  swarm  of  flies  buzzed 
and  crawled  over  his  face,  unhealthily  flushed 
through  its  prison  sallowness  by  drink  and  the 
June  sun. 

Leeb,  whose  tastes  were  dainty  as  those  of  any 
other  lady,  glanced  at  him  with  such  extreme 
disfavor  that  her  fear  was  for  the  time  being 
swallowed  up  in  disgust.  She  paused  for  half  a 
dozen  long  moments,  finally  reached  down  an  ex- 
perimental toe,  and  with  a  sharp  side  push  on  the 
close-cropped  head  she  undid  the  precarious  bal- 
ance of  her  relative,  who  collapsed  flaccidly  side- 
ways on  the  heather  like  an  overset  bolster. 

His  niece  sprung  over  his  prostrate  hulk,  took 
two  or  three  rapid  steps,  faced  about,  and  gazed 
fixedly  at  him,  to  show  that  she  was  not  in  the 
14 


210  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

least  afraid,  then  walked  slowly  up  the  path  to  the 
crest  of  the  hill,  where  she  was  out  of  sight  of 
the  stile;  then,  with  heart  beating  wildly,  her 
terror  came  upon  her,  and  she  ran  as  hard  as  she 
could  toward  M'Lurg's  Mill,  which  lay  peacefully 
among  the  trees  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

As  she  came  down  Che  wood-side  she  caught  up 
the  tough  branch  of  a  fir-tree,  and  drove  the  two 
cows,  now  no  longer  lean  and  ill-favored,  and  the 
young  bull,  to  which  Leeb  had  been  looking  to 
pay  her  rent  that  year,  toward  the  byre.  She 
sent  Jock  and  his  mother  on  with  vicious  blows 
till  they  were  safely  stabled  in  their  stalls,  with 
fresh  bundles  of  clover  grass  before  them.  Then 
Leeb  locked  the  byre  door  with  a  ponderous,  sel- 
dom-used key,  and  went  down  to  the  mill  to  warn 
Sanny  MacQuhatt. 

"  Ay,  an'  yer  uncle's  come  hame,"  muttered 
Sanny.  "  That's  no,  sae  guid ;  an'  ill  yin  him  a' 
the  days  o'  him.  Tim  the  Tairger  they  ca'  him 
— no'  withoot  raison.  Ay,  ay,  an  ill  yin  Tim." 

"  You'll  no'  let  him  within  the  mill,  wull  ye, 
Sanny?" 

"  Certes,  he'll  no'  come  here  as  long  as  I'm 
responsible  for  pittin'  the  auld  ramshackle  in 
order — mair  fule  me  for  takin'  on  the  job.  It's 
never  worth  it :  guid  for  nocht  but  firewood." 

And  Sanny  grumbled  away  till  his  words  were 
lost  in  the  snuffling  produced  by  repeated  pinches 


THE  SIEGE  OF  M'LUKG'S  MILL.  211 

of  brown  Taddy  from  his  waistcoat  pocket.  Leeb 
stood  patient  by,  knowing  that  at  this  juncture 
the  word  of  Sanny  MacQuhatt,  ill-tempered  old 
curmudgeon  of  a  millwright  though  he  might  be, 
was  to  her  a  tower  of  strength. 

The  cattle  put  under  lock  and  key,  the  mill 
garrisoned,  Leeb  proceeded  to  the  house,  where 
she  carefully  locked  every  door  and  put  the  hasp 
on  every  window.  Those  which  had  no  defense 
of  this  kind  she  secured  with  nails.  While  she 
was  still  employed  about  this  last  operation,  there 
came  a  loud  knock  at  the  front  door,  which  Leeb 
had  secured  first  of  all. 

"  Wha's  there  ?  "  challenged  the  besieged,  sharp 
and  clear. 

"  Open  the  door,  Leeb,"  returned  a  thick  voice, 
which  Leeb  knew  instinctively  to  be  that  of  her 
uncle.  "  It's  me  come  hame." 

"  I  ken  naebody  that's  to  come  hame,"  returned 
Leeb.  "  Wha  micht  <  me  '  be?" 

"  D'ye  no'  mind  yer  uncle  Timothy  ?  "  said  the 
thick  voice  outside,  subsiding  into  a  whine.  "  Let 
me  come  ben,  Leeb ;  I'm  corned  to  look  efter  ye, 
an'  to  work  for  ye  a'." 

"  Na,"  said  Leeb,  "  I've  worked  for  myseF  a' 
thae  years  that  ye've  been  lyin'  in  the  jail,  a 
disgrace  to  us  a',  and  I'm  no'  gaun  to  let  ye  scatter 
what  I  hae  gathered,  sae  just  e'en  tak'  yersel'  aff 
to  where  ye  cam'  frae.  This  is  nae  hame  o'  yours ! ' 


212  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

The  wrath  of  the  still  half- tipsy  man  rose  in  a 
flash.  His  voice  became  an  unsteady  scream. 

"  Then  tak'  heed  to  yersel',  Leeb  M'Lurg ! "  he 
shouted  through  the  keyhole.  "  Gin  ye  dinna  let 
me  in  I'll  burn  the  riggin'  ower  yer  heid — mill 
first  and  then  the  hoose — ye  ill-set,  ungratefu' 
besom ! " 

"  Ay,  Uncle  Timothy,  ye  can  try  either  o'  the 
twa,"  said  Leeb,  from  the  safe  vantage  of  a  little 
staircase  window,  which,  made  of  a  single  pane, 
opened  inward.  "Gae  awa'  frae  my  door  this 
minute !  "  she  said. 

The  jail-bird  beneath  threw  himself  furiously 
against  the  old  wooden  door,  which  opened  in  the 
middle  ;  but  the  oak  bolt  was  firm,  and  held. 
Still,  the  whole  house  shook  with  the  shock  of  his 
onslaught. 

Leeb  hesitated  no  longer,  but  snatched  a  black 
"  goblet "  from  the  side  of  the  kitchen  fire,  and 
sent  the  contents  out  of  the  window  with  a  deft 
hand.  There  was  an  answering  howl  of  pain. 

"  Ye've  scadded  me !  I'll  hae  the  law  on  ye, 
ye  randy !  I'll  hae  yer  life  I " 

"  There's  a  potfu'  mair  on  the  fire  for  ye,  gin  ye 
dinna  gang  awa'  quaitly  wi'  what  ye  hae  gotten !  " 
said  Tim  M'Lurg's  hard-hearted  niece. 

He  now  took  himself  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
barn.  Hardly  had  he  disappeared  on  the  other 
side  when  Leeb's  favorite  brother,  Benny,  came 


THE  SIEGE  OF   M'LTJEQ'S  MILL.  213 

whistling  round  the  corner  opposite  to  that  afc 
which  Tim  had  disappeared.  He  stood  astonished 
to  see  the  front  door  shut.  Leeb  hurried  down, 
unlocked  the  door,  and  called  to  him  to  run.  He 
came  slowly  toward  her  with  a  bewildered  coun- 
tenance. She  pulled  him  inside,  told  him  hur- 
riedly what  had  happened,  and  sent  him  off 
through  the  back  window,  which  abutted  on  the 
moor,  with  a  message  to  Will  Morton,  the  school- 
master. Benny  flew  like  the  wind.  He  knew 
that  it  was  his  part  to  bring  up  re-enforcements 
while  his  sister  kept  the  castle.  Leeb  watched 
till  Benny  was  safe  over  the  hill,  then  she  herself 
slipped  out  of  the  house,  locking  the  door  behind 
her,  and  went  toward  the  mill,  from  which  rose 
the  sound  of  angry  voices.  Before  she  got  there, 
however,  the  commotion  was  evidently  reaching 
its  climax,  and  Leeb  deemed  it  best  to  slip  into 
the  byre,  through  one  of  the  wickets  of  which  she 
could  see  the  mill  door.  Through  that  wide-open 
square  tumbled  Tim  the  Tairger,  bareheaded  and 
in  disarray,  and  behind  him  appeared  the  burly 
figure  of  old  Sanny  MacQuhatt,  with  his  mill- 
wright mallet  in  his  hand. 

"  I  wad  be  wae  to  strike  the  like  o'  you,  Tim," 
said  the  old  man.  "  Ye  michtna  need  anither, 
but  dinna  ye  come  back  here  to  interfere  wi'  my 
wark.  Gang  awa'  an'  collogue  wi'  yer  cronies, 
poachers  an'  sic-like,  an'  lea'  decent  folk  abee ! " 


214  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

Timothy  gathered  himself  up.  He  had  had 
enough  of  the  millwright,  who,  having  done  his 
part,  went  staidly  back  to  his  interrupted  work. 
The  ill-treated  one  came  toward  the  byre,  and, 
seeing  the  door  open,  he  went  in.  Leeb  sprung 
into  the  bauks  above  the  stall  of  the  bull  just  in 
time.  Her  uncle  looked  the  cattle  over  with  a 
dissatisfied  eye.  He  seemed  to  Leeb  to  be  reck- 
oning how  much  Crummie  and  Specklie  would 
bring  in  the  auction  mart.  She  resolved  that  he 
should  also  have  a  look  at  Jock,  and  so  be  able  to 
decide  on  his  market  value  as  well.  Stooping 
over,  she  undid  his  binding,  and  lashed  him  at 
the  same  time  sharply  across  the  nose  with  the 
rope.  Jock  lowered  his  head,  and  backed  indig- 
nantly out  of  his  stall.  As  he  turned  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  an  intruder,  a  man  whose 
red  neckcloth  proved  him  evidently  his  enemy  and 
assailant.  Jock's  charge  was  instant  and  effect- 
ive. "With  a  snort  he  cleared  the  byre,  and 
pursued  across  the  open  square  of  the  yard,  tail 
in  air  and  horns  to  the  ground.  Timothy  M'Lurg 
could  not  complain  of  the  warmth  of  his  reception 
in  the  home  of  his  ancestors. 

He  sought  refuge  from  the  bull  in  the  big 
water  hole  under  the  mill-wheel.  Here,  waiting 
the  bull's  retirement,  Leeb  interviewed  him  from 
the  mill  window,  under  the  protection  of  Sanny 
MacQuhatt,  and  offered  him  a  pound  note  to  go 


THE   SIEGE   OF  M'LURG'S  MILL.  215 

away.  This  compromise  had  the  weakness  of  a 
woman's  compunction,  and  was  strongly  disap- 
proved of  by  her  ally. 

"  Gie  that  craitur  a  poun'  to  drink — he'll  sune 
come  back  on  ye  for  anither,"  said  Sanny,  who 
knew  the  breed.  "I'd 'pound'  him,"  he  mut- 
tered. 

But  Tim  the  Tairger,  also  thinking  that  this 
offer  gave  signs  of  yielding,  rejected  it  with  oaths 
and  contumely.  On  the  contrary,  he  would  sell 
them  up,  bag  and  baggage.  The  whole  place  be- 
longed to  him.  He  had  deeds  that  could  prove  it. 
Stock,  plenishing,  water-power — all  were  his. 

"  Gin  the  water-poo'er  be  yours,  ma  man,"  said 
Sanny,  "  ye  can  hae  that,  an'  welcome." 

Sanny's  humor  was  of  the  entirely  practical 
kind. 

He  went  to  the  mill-lade,  and  turned  on  the 
stream.  The  whole  force  of  M'Lurg's  mill-dam 
took  its  way  smoothly  down  the  repaired  lade, 
and  flashed  with  a  solid  leap  over  the  old  green 
wheel  upon  Timothy,  as  he  stood  between  the 
bull  to  landward  and  the  plunging  mill-wheel. 
Sanny  grimly  kept  up  his  end  of  the  jest. 

"  Hae,  ma  man,  ye'll  no'  say  that  we  keepit  ye 
oot  o'  yer  richts.  '  Water-poo'er,' "  quo'  he ; 
nae  pound  notes  ye'se  get  i'  this  pairish,  but  it'll 
ne'  be  Sanny  MacQuhatt  that'll  keep  ye  oot  o* 
the  use  o'  yer  ain  water-poo'er  ! " 


216  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

Tim  the  Tairger  was  in  a  woful  case.  The  old 
man  looked  from  the  mill  window,  and  comforted 
him  with  crusty  humor,  the  points  of  which  were 
all  too  obvious.  The  cold  water  plunged  upon 
him  from  the  mill-wheel,  it  deepened  about  his 
knees,  and  Jock,  the  young  bull,  pawed  the 
ground  and  snorted  murderously  for  his  blood. 
He  was  completely  sobered  now,  and  vowed  re- 
peatedly that  if  they  would  only  give  him  the 
pound  note  he  would  go  and  never  disturb  them 
more. 

But  Sanny  had  taken  things  into  his  own 
hands,  and  would  not  allow  Leeb  to  interfere. 

"  Bide  ye  where  ye  are,  ma  man ;  ye're  braw 
and  caller  doon  there.  Ye  were  aye  a  drouthy 
lad,  Tim,  since  ever  I  kenned  ye.  Ye're  in  the 
way  o'  being  sleekened  noo !  An'  in  a  wee  there'll 
be  a  bonny  lad  wi'  silver  buttons  comin'  up  that 
road  to  look  for  ye.  Benny,  yer  ain  bluid  relative, 
he's  gane  for  him,  an'  he'll  hae  him  here  the  noo. 
It  was  a  blessin'  he  was  in  the  district  ony way ; 
it's  no'  that  often  a  polisman's  where  he's 
wantit." 

"  Here  he's  come !  "  cried  Leeb,  from  her  post 
of  observation  in  the  mill  gable. 

Tim  the  Tairger  took  one  look  down  the  road, 
one  link  of  which  he  could  see  as  it  wound  round 
the  loch.  He  saw  the  sun  glitter  on  the  white 
buttons  of  a  policeman's  coat,  who  came  stalking 


THE   SIEGE  OF   M'LURG'S   MILL.  217 

majestically  along.  Whatever  evil  Tim  had  on 
his  conscience  of  prison-breaking  or  ticket-of- 
leave  unreported,  we  do  not  know,  but  the  fear  of 
the  officer  of  the  law  overpowered  even  his  fear  of 
Jock's  horns.  With  a  wild  skelloch  of  despera- 
tion he  dashed  out  of  the  pool,  and  took  down 
the  road,  doubling  from  the  bull  like  a  hunted 
hare. 

The  schoolmaster — masquerading  according  to 
Leeb's  orders,  in  Sergeant  M'Millan's  old  police- 
man's coat — saw  Timothy  M'Lurg  leap  the  low 
loaning  dike  and  tear  down  the  road.  After  him 
thundered  the  bull,  routing  in  blood-curdling 
wrath.  From  a  high  knoll  he  watched  the  chase, 
till  hunter  and  hunted  were  lost  in  the  shades  of 
Knock-angry  Wood.  The  bull  was  found  next 
day  wandering  near  Dairy,  with  a  clouted  deer- 
stalking cap  transfixed  on  one  horn  ;  but  as  for 
Tim  the  Tairger,  he  was  never  more  heard  tell  of 
in  stewartry  or  in  shire. 

The  mystery  is  not  likely  to  be  solved  now,  for 
the  secrets  of  that  chase  are  only  known  to  Jock, 
and  he  ran  his  earthly  race  to  the  beef-tub  half  a 
dozen  years  ago  without  unburdening  his  con- 
science to  any.  From  his  uncertain  temper  it  is 
however  suspected  that  he  had  something  on  his 
mind. 

As  for  Sanny  MacQuhatt,  he  says  that  he  is 
"muckle  feared  that  Tim  the  Tairger  is  gane 


218  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

whaur  he  wad  be  michty  gled  o'  the  water-poo'er 
o'  M'Lurg's  mill-lade ;  whilk,"  concludes  Sanny, 
««I  defy  him  to  say  that  I  ever  denied  him  I " 


THE   MINISTER    OF  SCAUR   CASTS    OUT 
WITH  HIS  MAKER. 

SILAS  CAKTWRIGHT  had  a  quarrel  with  the 
Almighty.  He  had  dwelt  five  years  by  the  side 
of  the  Scaur  Water.  He  was  a  lonely  man  and 
little  given  to  going  into  company.  The  men  of 
his  presbytery  found  it  hard  to  draw  him  away 
from  his  manse,  even  for  a  night.  He  asked  none 
of  them  to  assist  him  at  his  communion  seasons 
except  Mr.  Ure  of  Crawwheats  and  Mr.  Croft  of 
the  Riggs,  both,  of  whom  could  go  back  to  their 
manses  the  same  night. 

The  manse  of  the  Scaur  sat  on  a  high  bank 
overlooking  the  long,  narrow,  densely  wooded 
valley.  From  his  study  window  the  minister 
could  look  over  the  clustered  slate  roofs  of  the 
Tillage  of  Scaur  into  the  pale-blue  misty  distance, 
through  which  a  silver  thread  ran — Silas  Cart- 
wright's  glimpse  of  that  other  world  where  the 
Nith  glimmered  among  its  rich  wheat-fields. 
Above  the  manse  of  Scaur  the  woods  died  out  into 


THE  MINISTER   OP  SCAUR.  219 

fringing  hazel  and  birch,  and  the  brown  moorland 
began  where  the  whaups  and  the  peewits  made  a 
blithe  crying  on  the  June  mornings,  and  the 
jacksnipe  swooped  sidelong  with  melancholy 
wing-quaverings  every  autumn  evening. 

It  was  to  the  bare  hills  of  heather  that  Silas 
Cartwright  took  his  way  every  time  that  he  undid 
the  hasp  of  the  creaking  front  door  of  the  manse 
which  was  so  seldom  used.  He  dwelt  among  his 
hill  folk  like  a  man  of  another  blood  and  another 
speech.  City  bred  and  delicately  nurtured,  he 
had  come  to  the  parish  of  Scaur  in  the  last  days 
of  patronage,  through  the  interest  of  a  university 
friend  who  happened  to  be  the  penniless  laird  of 
a  barren  heritage  of  bog  and  morass. 

"  You  tak'  the  lairdship,  an'  I'll  tak'  the  steep- 
end  ! "  his  friend  had  said. 

But  Silas  Cartwright  had  stuck  to  the  manse. 
He  had  a  great  desire  in  his  heart  to  be  a  leader 
among  men,  and  the  chance  which  opened  to  him 
among  the  shepherds  and  small  sheep  farmers  of 
the  Scaur  Water  was  peculiarly  fascinating.  Like- 
wise there  was  a  girl  with  a  pale  cheek  and 
shining  gold  hair  for  whom  the  minister  dreamed 
of  making  a  home.  He  had  met  Cecilia  Barton  in 
Edinburgh  drawing-rooms,  where  her  pale  beauty 
and  crown  of  glistening  tresses  had  lain  heavy  on 
his  heart  for  many,  many  days  after.  Then  they 
had  met  again  by  the  side  of  the  eastern  sea, 


220  THE   STICKIT  MINISTER. 

where  the  rocky  islands  stood  out  in  the  morning 
like  dusky  amethysts  against  the  sun.  He  had 
paced  the  sands  with  her,  overtowering  her  slim 
form  with  his  masculine  stolidity.  Cecilia  Barton 
listened  with  a  far-off  sympathy  while  the  tall 
student  quoted  Tennyson  to  her,  and  even  thrilled 
with  a  faint  emotion  as  the  tones  of  his  voice 
proclaimed  more  plainly  than  words  that  she,  she 
only,  was  the  power 

"  Whose  slightest  whisper  moves  me  more. 
Than  all  the  ranged  reasons  of  the  world." 

This  girl  with  the  far-off  eyes  had  trod,  careless 
but  not  unconscious,  on  many  hearts,  and  the 
virginal  whiteness  of  her  summer  dress  was  more 
passionate  than  the  heart  which  beat  beneath  it. 

Silas  Cartwright,  as  he  walked  on  the  moorland 
•with  his  staff  in  his  hand,  thought  often  of  the 
days  when  Tantallon's  toothless  portcullis  was  a 
gate-way  to  the  palace  of  delights,  and  when 
Fidra  and  the  small  isles  swam  on  the  sea  of  bliss. 
All  this  because  there  was  a  tolerant  kindness  hi 
a  girl's  languid  eyes,  and  because  the  glamour  of 
a  first  love  had  fallen  upon  a  young  man.  Then 
it  was  that  Cecilia  Barton  had  expressed  her 
fondness  for  a  life  of  pastoral  quietness,  simple 
among  a  simple  people.  This  was  her  ideal,  she 
said ;  her  desire  above  all  others.  Her  voice  waa 
soft,  her  eyes  luminous.  Her  mother  would  have 


THE  MINISTER   OF  SCAUR.  221 

smiled  had  she  heard  her,  but  Cecilia  Barton  did 
not  talk  thus  to  her  mother.  Really  her  ideals  lay 
in  the  region  of  C-springed  carriages  and  dressing- 
cases  with  fittings  of  monogrammed  gold. 

When  Silas  Cartvvright  went  back  to  his  city 
home  that  autumn  he  treasured  some  words  which 
in  the  silent  coolness  of  a  rocky  recess  this  girl's 
voice  hard  said  to  him.  Indeed,  they  were  more 
to  him  than  the  call  of  the  Master  whom  he  had 
promised  to  serve. 

He  took  her  hand  in  his,  and  she  let  it  lie.  He 
saw  strange  meanings  in  her  eyes  as  they  looked 
out  to  sea.  Really  she  was  only  wondering  what 
he  would  do  next.  Men  do  not  act  alike  in  such 
cases,  and  the  uncertainty  was  pleasing.  But  Silas 
Cartwright,  with  small  originality,  only  leaned 
toward  the  reflected  light  on  the  pale-gold  hair. 

"  Do  you  love  me  ? "  he  asked. 

After  a  pause  Cecilia  Barton  answered  him, 
"  There  is  no  man  I  love  so  well." 

Which  was  true  and  hopeful  so  far,  and  might 
have  been  sufficient  had  there  not  been  a  girl 
whom  she  loved  infinitely  more. 

That  last  winter  passed  with  presbyterial  trials 
and  class  examinations  to  be  overleaped,  meaning- 
less to  him  as  hurdles  in  a  handicap.  License 
and  ordination  he  passed  like  mile-stones  which 
marked  his  progress  toward  the  white-walled 
manse  in  a  sunny  glen  which  should  be  a  home 


222  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

for  a  new  Adam  and  Eve.  Then  came  Adam 
Stennis  and  his  offer  of  the  manse  of  the  Scaur. 
The  young  minister  preached  there  to  a  scanty 
flock  who  accepted  him  with  unconcern.  The 
Cameronians  were  strong  in  that  glen,  and  they 
looked  on  the  new  parish  minister  as  an  emblem 
of  the  powers  of  state  which  had  refused  to  set 
up  a  covenanted  church.  They  came  to  the  or- 
dination, however,  and  sat  silent  with  grim  dis- 
approval in  every  line  of  their  faces.  Then  Silas 
Cartwright  occupied  himself  in  making  a  round 
of  pastoral  visitations,  and  in  getting  his  furniture 
up  from  Thorniwood.  He  saw  each  article  taken 
carefully  off  the  carts ;  he  unpacked  it  with  his 
own  hands,  saying  to  himself.  "  In  this  chair  she 
will  sit.  At  this  table  she  will  preside ! "  His 
Sabbaths  were  chiefly  delightful  to  him  because 
of  the  vision  of  shining  pale-gold  hair  which  glim- 
mered, unseen  by  all  save  the  minister,  in  the 
gloomy  square  prison  of  the  manse  seat.  Here 
he  would  open  the  Sunday-school.  Here  at  the 
little  school's  lower  end,  beneath  the  windows 
round  which  the  white  roses  clambered  to  peep 
in,  the  little  cottage  organ  which  he  had  bought 
for  her  would  sit,  and  the  thrill  of  her  voice  would 
shake  the  tendrils  of  the  honeysuckle  about  the 
porch. 

One  day  the  carrier  brought  the    minister  of 
the  Scaur  a  parcel,  and  on  the  same  day  the  post- 


THE  MINISTER   OF   SCAUR.  223 

man  brought  him  a  newspaper.  The  latter  was 
marked  with  a  blue  cross,  and  announced  that 
the  marriage  of  Perkins  Dobbs  and  Cecilia  Barton 
had  been  celebrated  by  the  Reverend  Dean  Hark- 
away  in  the  cathedral  church  of  St.  Kentigern. 
The  bride  had  chosen  the  monograms  and  the 
C-springs.  The  country  manse  was  a  mere  holi- 
day opinion  vanishing  with  Fidra  and  the  grassy 
gate-ways  of  Tantallon.  She  whirled  away  amid 
smiles  and  rice,  with  a  coat  of  arms  of  the  pater- 
nal Dobbs  (who  in  his  day  had  brewed  the  best 
of  ale)  on  the  panels  of  her  carriage,  and  there 
was  an  end  of  her. 

But  what  of  the  manse  that  was  furnished  for 
her,  the  chairs  which,  as  they  were  bought, 
packed,  transported,  and  set  up,  were  each  con- 
secrated to  her  down-sitting?  What  of  the  man 
whose  every  breath  was  a  spasm  of  pain,  to  whom 
sleep  came  with  a  feeling  of  deadliest  oppression, 
and  who  awoke  in  the  moaning  to  a  sharp  and 
cruel  stound  of  agony  ?  " 

Silas  Cartwright  walked  on  the  moorland  by 
night  and  day.  He  did  not  think.  He  did  not 
speak.  He  did  not  murmur.  He  only  looked  for 
God's  juniper  bush,  under  which  he  might  lie 
down  arid  die. 

But  a  man  cannot  die  naturally  when  he  will, 
and  Silas  Cartwright  had  stronger  stuff  in  him 
than  those  who  take  away  their  own  lives. 


224  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

The  girl  who  had  wronged  him  still  lived  with 
him  a  ghostly  presence,  and  sat  opposite  him  in 
the  chairs  which  he  had  dreamed  she  would 
occupy. 

He  saw  her  in  the  graceful  quiet  of  her  white 
gown  on  the  little  green  lawn  under  the  apple- 
trees.  In  his  dreams  he  took  her  hand  and 
climbed  the  mountains  with  her,  taking  her  far 
up  into  the  bosom  of  the  moors,  where  the  high 
Lead  Hills  fold  themselves  in  overlapping  purple 
masses  about  the  Pass  of  Dalveen. 

"  This  way  madness  lies !  "  he  would  say  time 
and  again  to  himself,  when  like  a  dash  of  cold 
rain  the  reality  of  his  loss  came  upon  him ;  but 
as  his  strange  fancy  strengthened,  he  walked 
with  a  ghostly  bride  arid  buried  himself  in  an 
unreal  present  in  order  to  shut  out  a  hopeless 
future. 

His  pulpit  work  alternated  between  severely 
orthodox  disquisitions  quarried  from  the  litera- 
ture of  the  past,  over  which  every  minister  has 
mining  rights,  and  strange,  dreamy  rhapsodies 
which  considerably  astonished  his  hearers  in  the 
little  kirk  of  Scaur. 

Silas  Cartwright  had  never  been  a  deeply 
spiritual  man ;  but  now,  steeped  in  a  kind  of 
mystic  make-belief,  he  reached  out  toward  all 
sorts  of  spiritualism  and  occultism.  He  had 
catalogues  of  books  on  these  subjects  sent  to  him, 


THE  MINISTER   OF   SCAUR.  225 

and  from  these  he  made  extensive  purchases,  far 
beyond  what  his  means  allowed.  He  steeped  his 
mind  in  these  studies,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
his  work  as  pastor  among  the  hill  folk  became 
distasteful  to  him.  His  congregation  of  a  Sunday 
— droning  psalms  and  fluttering  leaves,  sitting  in 
straggling  clusters  about  the  pews,  each  looking 
more  uncomfortable  than  his  neighbor — moved 
before  him  like  idle  painted  shapes  in  a  mummer's 
show.  The  only  real  figure  in  that  gray  kirk  of 
rough  harled  masonry  was  the  Presence,  with 
the  shining  hair  sitting  quiet  on  the  cushions 
of  the  manse  seat. 

The  parish  of  Scaur  did  not  let  its  tongue  lie 
still  while  all  this  was  going  on.  It  had  its  own 
opinion,  which  was  plainly,  that  the  minister  was 
going  out  of  his  mind.  But  he  was  all  the  less  to 
be  meddled  with  on  that  account.  He  had  even  an 
increase  in  his  Sabbath  congregations,  for  it  was 
a  fascinating  subject  to  discuss  the  strange  utter- 
ances of  a  mad  minister  at  farm  ingle-nooks  and 
by  the  smithy  fire  during  the  week.  The  Camer- 
onians  took  little  heed.  It  was  small  concern  of 
theirs  if  an  Erastian  went  wrong  in  his  mind. 
He  was  far  from  right  to  begin  with.  So  their 
minister  simply  kept  leathering  on  at  the  funda- 
mentals. One  of  the  things  most  noted  was  the 
care  with  which  the  minister  paraphrased  the 
name  of  God  in  his  prayers  and  discourses.  The 
15 


226  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

superstitious  said  that  he  dared  not  utter  the 
Name.  The  bolder  made  bets  that  he  would  not 
do  so  in  the  whole  course  of  a  morning's  diet  of 
worship,  and  they  won  their  wagers.  It  was, 
indeed,  small  wonder  that  the  parish  decided  that 
its  minister  was  going  out  of  his  mind. 

But  the  seasons  went  round,  and  the  most  that 
any  one  could  say  when  asked  about  Mr.  Cart- 
wright  was  that  he  was  "  No'  muckle  waur  than 
usual ! "  He  himself  got  little  ease  or  peace  of 
mind,  and  it  was  impossible  that  he  could,  con- 
sidering the  purpose  which  his  mind  confessed. 
This  was  no  less  than  to  take  his  revenge  on  God 
for  denying  him  the  desire  of  his  heart.  There 
was  a  kind  of  joy  in  the  thought  that  he  had  cast 
out  with  his  Maker. 

What  actually  cured  him  it  is  strange  to  have 
to  tell.  When  Cecilia  Barton  drove  away  that 
day  behind  the  bays  of  Dobbs,  she  covenanted  for 
a  position  and  for  riches.  On  the  other  hand,  she 
had  a  husband  whom  she  loved  with  such  love 
that  when  he  died,  after  five  years,  she  put  on 
widow's  weeds  of  the  best  quality  and  was  exceed- 
ing thankful.  Then  she  came  down  to  a  shooting- 
lodge  in  the  Nith  valley,  and  sent  for  Silas  Cart- 
wright  to  come  to  see  her.  He  resisted  the  sum- 
mons for  some  days,  for  his  ideal  bride  had  grown 
to  suffice  him,  and  then  finally  he  went.  He  saw 
and  he  returned — a  sane  man  whose  cure  was 


JOHN  BLACK,  CRITIC  IN  ORDINARY.       227 

complete.  He  had  seen  a  fat  woman  with  two 
fatter  lap  dogs,  who  talked  concerning  horses  and 
sneered  at  the  people  of  the  shepherd's  houses 
about  the  mansion-house  which  she  occupied. 

So  Silas  Cartwright  returned,  clothed  and  in 
his  right  mind.  There  was  no  presence  in  the 
manse  seat  any  more.  He  made  his  peace  with 
God  in  ways  that  are  not  our  business.  His  ser- 
mons were  new  things — instinct  with  actuality 
and  fervor.  Some  of  the  hill  folk  went  over  to 
the  parish  church  to  hear  him  one  night  when  he 
held  an  evening  service.  An  old  elder  walked  to 
the  manse  gate  with  the  young  man.  They  two 
stood  a  moment  silent,  and  then  the  elder  spoke. 

"  Maister  Cartwright,"  he  said,  "  you  and  your 
Maker  had  an  awfu'  cast  oot ;  but  noo  that 
ye've  made  it  up,  man,  ye're  fit  to  be  a  Cameron- 
ian!" 


JOHN  BLACK,  CRITIC  IN  ORDINRAY. 

JOHN  BLACK  was  not  a  minister,  but  there  were 
few  ministers  that  could  hold  a  candle  to  him. 
This  is  a  fact.  John  Black  says  so  himself.  He 
desires  to  add  "  if  any."  But,  owing  to  jealousy, 
he  has  somehow  never  been  appreciated.  But  if 
John  Black  were  to  speak  his  mind,  he  "  kens  o* 


228  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

at  least  twal'  ministers  that  had  better  resign." 
Previous,  however,  to  this  holocaust  we  may  en- 
deavor to  do  some  justice  to  John  Black  himself. 
He  came  to  our  Sunday-school  trip  this  year,  and 
his  sayings  and  doings  for  a  long  summer's  day 
were  within  our  observation.  The  result  is 
appended  hereunder,  and  may  form  an  humble 
introduction  to  John's  intended  series  of  essays 
in  destructive  criticism. 

First  of  all,  John  Black  said  that  we  were  sure 
to  get  a  bad  day  because  we  were  going  in  th» 
month  of  July.  It  is  sure  to  rain  in  July.  John 
had  been  a  teacher  in  the  school  as  long  as  he 
had  a  class,  or,  more  accurately,  as  often  as  he 
could  get  his  class  to  attend,  for  he  used  to  dis- 
perse any  class  that  was  given  to  him  in  about 
three  Sabbath  days.  The  laddies  said  that  "  they 
werena  comin'  there  to  hae  their  lugs  dadded." 
John  said  that  "  he  never  saw  sic  a  set  o'  young 
haythens;"  and  as  for  the  superintendent,  he 
said  that  "he  had  something  else  to  do  than 
rampage  the  country  seeking  for  laddies  to  run 
away  from  John  Black.  If  John  wanted  any 
more  classes,  he  could  seek  them  himself."  John 
felt  that  this  was  a  discouragement,  and  resigned 
his  position  as  an  acting  teacher  in  our  congrega- 
tional Sabbath  school.  But  he  retained,  entirely 
by  his  own  appointment,  a  sort  of  honorary  posi- 
tion as  genera]  critic  to  the  management,  and 


JOHN   BLACK,  CItlTIC   IN    OHDINAKl.       229 

thought  himself  more  indispensable  than  the  en- 
tire staff.  This  was  not,  however,  we  believe,  the 
universal  opinion. 

Last  year  we  went  up  the  country  for  our  sum- 
tner  trip  to  a  field  on  the  farm  of  Greenshiels. 
John  Black's  auntie,  who  lived  on  the  farm,  had 
the  supplying  of  the  milk  on  that  occasion,  and, 
as  everybody  allowed,  she  just  charged  us  two 
prices.  John  Black  wanted  us  to  go  back  to 
Greenshiels  this  year,  but  the  minister  had  made 
arrangements  with  one  of  his  elders  to  visit  his 
farm  of  Port  Moor,  on  the  shores  of  the  Frith. 
John  Black  was  much  distressed  at  the  thought 
of  all  the  children  falling  off  the  rocky  "  heughs  n 
of  Port  More,  and  being  brought  home  on  a  pro- 
cession of  shutters.  Whereupon  the  minister  said 
that  in  that  case  they  had  better  take  the  shutters 
with  them,  for  there  were  none  within  six  miles 
of  Port  More.  John  told  the  minister  that  he 
would  not  have  his  responsibility  for  the  best 
cow  in  the  parish.  But  the  minister  thought  he 
could  take  the  responsibility  without  the  cow. 
He  is  quite  able  for  John  Black  at  any  time,  is 
our  minister. 

We  were  going  in  carts,  for  the  reason  that  if 
we  did  not  go  in  carts  we  should  have  had  to  walk. 
Indeed,  many  did  walk ;  the  younger  teachers  of 
both  sexes,  in  order  to  take  the  short  cuts  through 
the  wood,  and  so  s?  ve  the  horses— while  many  of 


230  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

the  elder  boys  ranged  on  both  sides  of  the  road, 
like  greyhounds  fresh  off  the  slip.  The  min- 
ister walked  sedately  behind  all  the  carts  along 
with  the  superintendent,  seeing  more  than  any 
one  gave  him  credit  for. 

There  was  not  much  cheering  when  we  started, 
for  not  many  people  were  about,  and  it  is  no  use 
hurrahing  if  there  is  no  one  to  hear  you.  The 
girls,  for  the  most  part,  stayed  quietly  in  their 
carts  and  sung  hymns  softly,  with  such  of  their 
teachers  as,  from  age  or  oth^r  cause,  had  no  call  to 
rest  the  horses.  There  were  some  farmers'  sons 
driving  the  carts — very  nice  lads,  though  shy  as 
a  rule  till  they  found  their  tongues,  which  they 
did  not  do  in  general  until  they  were  within  a 
mile  of  their  own  homes,  and  could  see  the  smoke 
from  their  ancestral  chimneys.  Then  they  be- 
came unexpectedly  voluble,  and  displayed  aston- 
ishing local  knowledge  for  the  benefit  of  th^  lady 
teachers.  James  Greg  even  asked  the  Misses 
Robb,  whose  father  keeps  the  shop  at  the  Bridge 
End,  if  they  would  not  like  to  come  and  live  at 
his  house.  This  was  felt  to  be  a  very  great  length 
for  James  to  go,  but  then  James  was  known  in 
all  the  parish  to  be  a  very  daring  Romeo.  But 
Nancy  Robb  soon  brought  him  to  confusion  by 
replying :  "  We  canna  a'  three  come,  Jamie ;  tell 
us  what  ane  ye  want,  an'  then  we'll  see  aboot  it ! " 

Nancy  had  been  used  to  holding  her  own  with 


JOHN   BLACK,  CRITIC  IN   ORDINARY.       231 

the  town  lads,  so  James's  rustic  gallantry  was 
child's  play  to  her.  Besides,  she  was  going  to  be 
married  in  the  back-end,  and  so  could  speak  more 
freely.  No  one  is  so  dangerous  as  an  engaged 
girl,  not  even  a  widow,  though  here  the  authorities 
are  against  us.  The  engaged  girl  is  a  licensed 
heart-breaker,  certified  capable,  who  knows  that 
her  time  is  short. 

When  we  got  to  Port  More  we  all  went  to  have 
a  look  at  the  tide,  which  was  just  coming  in. 
Some  of  the  boys  were  only  restrained  by  the  most 
forcible  arguments  from  bathing  there  and  then. 
The  water  was  about  four  inches  deep  half  a  mile 
from  the  shore;  so,  to  make  fun  of  them,  the 
minister  advised  them  to  walk  out  with  their 
clothes  on,  and  strip  when  they  got  into  deep 
water ;  but  none  of  them  did  that. 

We  were  just  all  seated  in  a  great  irregular 
semicircle,  having  milk  and  buns,  when  John 
Black  drove  up  in  his  auntie's  gig,  which  he  had 
borrowed  for  the  occasion.  He  had  not  been  asked, 
but  that  did  not  prevent  him  from  finding  fault 
with  all  the  arrangements  as  soon  as  he  arrived. 
Milk,  it  appeared,  was  bad  for  the  stomach  when 
overheated,  and  ought  to  have  had  its  acidity  cor- 
rected, according  to  his  auntie's  recipe,  with  a 
little  water. 

"  We  want  nane  of  yer  milk  frae  the  coo  wi* 
the  iron  tail,  John,"  said  one  of  the  teachers,  who 


282  THE  8TICKIT  MINISTER. 

did  not  like  John,  and  had  said  that  he  would  not 
come  if  John  was  asked. 

The  children  did  not  seem  to  feel  any  bad  effects, 
however,  nor  did  they  quarrel  with  the  want  of 
the  corrective  water,  judging  by  the  milk  they 
stowed  away  about  their  persons.  In  a  few 
minutes,  after  sundry  cautions  from  the  minister 
not  to  go  along  the  shore  without  a  teacher,  they 
scattered  into  small  roving  bands.  The  cricket 
stumps  were  soon  up,  and  a  good  game  going. 
One  of  the  teachers  took  the  biggest  boys  to  bathe 
in  a  sheltered  cove  at  some  distance,  where  the 
tide  had  come  sufficiently  far  up.  The  lady 
teachers  wandered  about  and  picked  rock  rose 
and  other  seaside  flowers,  or  explored  with  their 
classes  great  shell  heaps  for  "  rosebuds  "  and  "  legs 
of  mutton."  All  was  peaceful  and  happy,  and 
the  minister  was  the  happiest  of  all,  for  his 
sermons  were  both  done,  and  lying  snug  within 
his  Bible  in  the  study  of  the  manse.  He  talked 
to  the  superintendent  at  intervals,  sucking  mean- 
while the  ends  of  some  sprays  of  honeysuckle. 
Then  he  crossed  his  legs,  and  told  tales  of  how 
Rob  Blair  and  he  lived  on  ten  shillings  a  week  in 
their  first  session  at  college.  The  superintendent 
took  mental  notes  for  the  benefit  of  his  own  boys, 
two  of  whom  were  going  up  to  college  this  winter 
with  quite  other  notions.  All  was  peaceful — a 
fcland  happiness  settled  upon  the  chiefs  looking 


JOHN  BLACK,  CRITIC   IN  ORDINARY.       238 

down  on  the  whole  of  their  extensive  family — a 
peace  rudely  disturbed  by  a  "cleg"  which  had  in- 
quiringly settled  on  the  back  of  the  minister's 
neck.  It  was  a  trying  moment,  but  the  minister 
was  calm.  He  said,  quietly : 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  kill  me  that '  cleg ' 
on  the  back  of  my  neck,  Mr.  Poison  ?  " 

The  superintendent  saw  the  insect  apparently 
standing  on  its  head,  gorging  itself  with  clerical 
blood,  and  realized  that  he  had  got  a  great  man 
for  his  minister.  John  Black  (who  was  not  far 
away,  explaining  to  three  teachers  and  four  of 
the  elder  scholars  that  the  minister  and  superin- 
tendent were  a  couple  of  incapables)  said  when  he 
went  home  that  it  was  no  wonder  that  the  school 
was  going  to  rack  and  ruin,  for  he  "  saw  wi'  his  ain 
een  the  superintendent  and  the  minister  fa'in'  oot 
to  that  extent  that  the  superintendent  gied  the 
minister  a  daud  i'  the  side  o'  the  head !  " 

In  the  afternoon  we  made  tea.  The  young  men 
helped  the  ladies,  while  John  Black  kept  off  the 
children  with  a  stick  and  also  offered  advice. 
The  children  made  faces  at  him,  and  once  when 
he  went  out  of  earshot  of  the  group  at  the  fire 
Wattie  Robb  squared  up  at  him,  and  dared  him  to 
"  come  ahint  the  plantin' ! "  He  was  not  a  man 
who  was  much  appreciated,  was  John  Black, 
The  minister  smiled,  looking  at  the  bright  print- 
clad  girls  and  their  willing  assistants,  for  he 


234  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

thought  that  he  would  be  a  white  silk  handker- 
chief or  two  the  richer  before  the  winter.  It  is 
the  correct  thing  for  the  bride  to  give  the  minister 
on  the  occasion  of  a  wedding. 

"  It  wad  be  mair  wiselike,"  said  his  house- 
keeper, Mary,  "if  folk  that  gets  mairriet  had 
eneuch  gumption  to  gie  ye  guid  linen  instead  o' 
middlin'silk!" 

The  children  were  not  a  bit  tired  when  they 
came  to  be  mustered  for  the  home-going,  and  life 
and  limb  were  intact,  in  spite  of  John  Black's 
prophecy.  They  would  certainly  have  been  the 
better  of  a  wash,  for  some  of  them  had  apparently 
been  trying  to  tunnel  right  through  "to  the 
Aunty  Pods,"  as  the  farmer  of  Port  More  said. 
The  superintendent  knew  of  at  least  four  boys 
with  deceased  rabbits  up  their  trouser  legs ;  but 
they  were  all  the  happier,  and  they  made 
perfect  bowers  of  the  carts  on  the  way  home  with 
green  branches  and  flowers,  cheering  the  long 
journey  with  song.  They  were  a  jovial  company, 
and  each  one  of  them  was  as  hoarse  as  a  crow 
with  shouting  and  hurrahing  as  they  came  in 
triumph  through  the  town  to  dismount  at  the 
cross  before  the  assembled  townsfolk.  The  su- 
perintendent was  a  proud  man  that  night  seeing 
the  end  of  his  labors,  and  a  kindly  dew  stood  in  the 
minister's  eyes  as  he  watched  the  red  carts, 
crowded  with  happy  young  ones,  pass  him  in 


THE  CANDID  FEIEND.  235 

review  order.  «  Of  such,"  he  said,  « is  the  king- 
dom of  heaven." 

But  John  Black's  voice  recalled  him  to  himself 
as  he  drove  by  in  his  auntie's  gig. 

"  There'll  be  an  awfu'  lot  o'  them  no'  weel  the 
morn  wi'  a'  that  unta'en  doon  raw  milk.  Ye  wad 
hae  been  better  up  at  Greenshiels  wi'  my  auntie  1 " 


THE  CANDID  FRIEND. 

THE  lamp  had  long  been  lighted  in  the  manse 
of  Dule — that  is,  the  lamp  in  the  minister's  study. 
The  one  belonging  to  the  sitting-room  was  not  yet 
brought  in,  for  the  mistress  of  the  manse  was 
teaching  the  bairns  their  evening  lesson,  and  the 
murmur  of  her  voice,  broken  into  by  the  high 
treble  of  children's  questions,  came  fitfully  to  the 
minister  as  he  plowed  his  way  through  Thirdly. 
He  smiled  as  he  heard  the  intermittent  din,  and 
once  he  moved  as  if  to  leave  his  work  to  itself  and 
go  into  the  other  room ;  but  a  glance  at  the  ex- 
panse of  unfilled  paper  changed  his  purpose,  and 
he  proceeded  with  his  dark  spider  tracks  across 
the  white  sheet.  Men  who  write  chiefly  for  their 
own  reading  write  badly — ministers  worst  of  all. 


236  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

The  wind  was  blowing  a  hurricane  about  the 
manse  of  Dule,  the  bare  branches  of  the  strag- 
gling poplars  that  bordered  the  walk  whipped  the 
window  of  the  study,  and  the  rain  volleyed  against 
the  panes  in  single  drops  the  size  of  shillings 
The  minister  put  a  lump  of  coal  on  the  fire,  paus- 
ing a  long  time  before  he  put  it  on,  finally  letting 
it  drop  with  a  bang  as  the  uncertain  joints  of  the 
spindle-legged  tongs  gave  way  diagonally.  'Tis 
a  way  that  tongs  have,  and  the  minister  seemed 
to  feel  it,  for  he  said  emphatically,  "No;  that 
will  not  do ! "  But  he  was  referring  to  Thirdly. 
So  he  lay  back  for  a  long  time  and  cogitated  an 
illustration ;  then  he  took  a  book  of  reference 
down  from  the  shelf,  which  proved  so  interesting 
that  he  continued  to  read  long  after  he  had  passed 
the  limit  at  which  all  information  germane  to  his 
subject  ceased.  It  was  another  way  he  had,  and 
he  excused  the  habit  to  himself  by  saying  that 
doubtless  he  thus  gained  a  good  deal  of  informa- 
tion. 

Then  to  the  window  there  came  a  roaring  gust 
which  bent  the  frame  and  thundered  among  the 
fir-trees  at  the  gable  end  as  if  it  would  have  them 
all  down  before  the  morning.  The  minister  hoped 
that  there  would  be  no  poor  outcast  homeless  on 
such  a  night,  and  as  a  sort  of  per  contra  he  re- 
membered that  no  one  could  possibly  come  to 
interrupt  him  this  evening  at  least,  and  that  he 


THE  CANDID   FRIEND.  237 

might  even  finish  one  sermon  and  get  well  under 
way  with  the  other. 

At  this  moment  he  heard  the  squeak  of  the  bell 
wire  that  told  him  that  a  visitor  was  at  the  outer 
door.  Some  Solomon  of  an  architect  or  bell-hanger 
had  made  the  bell  wire  pass  through  the  study  on 
its  way  to  the  kitchen,  and  so  the  minister  was 
warned  of  the  chance  comer  while  his  feet  were 
yet  on  the  threshold.  The  student  under  the 
lamp  sighed,  lay  back  in  his  chair,  and  waited. 
He  almost  prayed  that  it  might  merely  be  a  mes- 
sage ;  but  no — the  sound  of  shuffling  feet :  it  was 
somebody  coming  in. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  study  door,  and  then 
the  voice  of  the  faithful  Marget,  saying: 

"  Maister  Tammas  Partan  to  see  ye,  sir." 

She  said  this  with  great  distinctness,  for  the 
minister  had  once  checked  her  for  saying,  "  Here's 
Tammas  Partan  !  "  which  was  what  she  longed  to 
say  to  this  day. 

"How  are  you  to-night,  Thomas?"  a§ked  the 
minister.  He  tried  hard  to  say,  "  I'm  glad  to  see 
you,"  but  could  not  manage  it,  for  even  a  min- 
ister has  a  conscience.  Mr.  Partan's  feet  left  two 
muddy  marks  side  by  side  across  the  carpet.  He 
made  a  conscience  of  stepping  over  two  mats  on 
his  way  in.  This  helped  among  other  things  to 
make  him  a  popular  visitor  at  the  manse. 

"  Thank  you,  minister ;  I'm  no'  that  unco  weel." 


238  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

"Then  you  are  sure  that  you  should  be  out 
such  a  night? "said  the  minister,  anxious  for  the 
welfare  of  his  parishioner. 

"  But,  as  ye  say  yersel',  Maister  Girmory, '  When 
duty  calls  or  danger,  be  never  wanting  there  ?  ' 

The  minister's  heart  sunk  within  him,  as  a 
stone  sinks  in  a  deep  lake,  for  he  knew  that  the 
"  candid  friend  "  had  found  him  out  once  more — 
and  that  his  tenderest  mercies  were  cruel.  But 
he  kept  a  discreet  and  resigned  silence.  If  the 
minister  had  a  fault,  said  his  friends,  it  was  that 
he  was  too  quiet. 

"  Weel,  minister,"  said  Tammas  Partan,  "  I  just 
cam'  up  my  ways  the  nicht  to  see  ye,  and  tell  you 
what  the  folk  were  sayin'.  I  wadna  be  a  frien' 
till  ye  gin  I  didna.  Faithfu',  ye  ken,  are  the 
wounds  of  a  friend ! " 

The  minister  looked  at  the  fire.  He  was  not  a 
man  inclined  to  think  more  highly  of  himself  than 
he  ought  to  think,  and  he  knew  that  before  Tam- 
mas Partan  had  done  with  his  recital  he  would  be 
too  upset  to  continue  with  his  Sabbath  morning's 
sermon  on  "  The  Fruits  of  the  Spirit,"  at  least  for 
that  night.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Tammas 
had  "thocht  it  his  duty"  to  come  in  at  the 
critical  moment  and  introduce  some  sand  into  the 
bearings.  Had  the  minister  been  a  stranger  or  a 
more  emphatic  man,  he  would  have  told  his  visitor 
that  he  did  not  want  to  hear  his  stories,  or  at  least 


THE  CANDID  FRIEND.  239 

he  would  have  so  received  them  that  they  would 
not  have  been  told  a  second  time.  But  the  min- 
ister of  Dule  was  acutely  sensitive  to  blame,  and 
the  pain  of  a  cruel  word  or  an  intentional  slight 
would  keep  him  sleepless  for  nights.  It  is  in  such 
parishes  as  Dule  that  "  Tammas  Partons  "  thrive. 
He  had  just  tried  it  once  with  Mr.  Girmory's 
predecessor,  one  of  the  grand  old  school  of  farmer 
clerics  now  almost  extinct.  Tammas  Partan  had 
once  at  a  Fast  Day  service  on  the  Thursday  be- 
fore the  Sacrament  Day  risen  to  his  feet  and  said 
to  old  Mr.  M'Gowl,  who  was  standing  among  his 
elders  ready  for  the  distribution  of  tokens : 

"  Remember  the  young  communicants ! " 

"  Remember  your  own  business !  "  returned 
Mr.  M'Gowl,  instantly,  at  the  same  time  giving 
the  officious  interrupter  a  sounding  "  cuff  "  on  the 
side  of  the  head. 

After  which  Tammas,  feeling  that  his  occupa- 
tion was  gone,  joined  himself  to  the  sect  of  the 
Apostolic  Brethren,  at  that  time  making  a  stir  in 
the  neighborhood,  with  whom  he  was  just  six 
weeks  in  communion  till  they  arose  in  a  body  and 
cast  him  out  of  the  synagogue.  So  he  had  been 
houseless  and  homeless  spiritually  till  Mr.  Gir- 
mory  came,  when  Tammas,  seeing  him  to  be  a 
man  after  his  own  heart,  returned  back  gladly  to 
his  old  nest. 

"  They  are  sayin'  that  there's  no'  eneuch  life 


240  THE   STICKIT  MINISTER. 

in  yer  sermons,  minister — nae  grup,  so  to  speak^ 
kind  o'  wambly  an'  cauldrife.  Noo,  that's  nov 
a  faut  that  I  wad  like  to  fin'  mysel',  but  that'* 
what  they're  say  in',  and  I  thochtit  my  duty  to 
tell  ye." 

"  Also  Gashmu  saith  it  ?  "  said  the  minister. 

"What  did  ye  say  ?  Na,  it  wasna  him ;  it  was 
Rab  Flint,  the  quarryman,  and  Andrew  Banks 
of  Carsewall,  that  said  it — I  dinna  ken  the  party 
that  ye  name." 

"  Ay,"  said  the  minister. 

"An'  Lame  Sandy,  the  soutar,  thocht  that 
there  was  an  awesome  lack  o'  speerituality  in  yer 
discoorse  the  Sabbath  afore  last.  He  asked, 
*  Hoo  could  ony  minister  look  for  a  blessin'  efter 
playin'  a  hale  efternune  at  the  Channelstanes  wir 
a'  the  riff-raff  o'  the  neighborhood  ? ' " 

"  Were  ye  not  there  yersel',  Thomas?"  queried 
the  minister,  quietly,  wondering  how  long  this 
was  going  to  last. 

"  Ou,  ay ;  I'm  far  frae  denyin'  it — but  it's  no' 
my  ain  opeenions  I'm  giein'  till  ye.  I  wadna 
presume  to  do  that ;  but  it's  the  talk  o'  the 
pairish.  An'  there's  Gilbert  Loan's  auntie ;  she 
has  been  troubled  wi'  a  kind  o'  dwaminess  in  her 
inside  for  near  three  weeks,  an'  ye've  gane  by  the 
door  mair  nor  yince,  an'  never  looked  the  road 
she  was  on,  sae  Gilbert  an'  a'  his  folk  are  thinkin* 
o'  leavin'  the  kirk." 


THE   CANDID   FRIEND.  241 

"But  I  never  heard  of  it  till  this  minute!" 
protested  the  minister,  touched  at  last  on  a 
tender  spot.  "Why  did  they  not  send  me 
word?" 

"Weel,  minister,  Gilbert  said  to  me  that  if  ye 
had  nae  better  ken  o'  yer  fowk  than  no'  to  miss 
them  three  Sabbaths  oot  o'  the  back  gallery, 
they  werena  gaun  to  bemean  themsel's  to  sen'  ye 
nae  word." 

The  minister  could  just  see  over  the  pulpit 
cushion  as  far  as  the  bald  spot  on  the  precentor's 
head,  but  he  said  nothing. 

At  this  point  there  was  a  diversion,  for  the  min- 
ister's wife  came  in.  She  was  not  tall  in  stature,, 
but  to  Tammas  she  loomed  up  now  like  a  Jael 
among  women.  The  minister  rose  to  give  her  a 
seat,  but  she  had  not  come  to  sit  down. 

"  Now,  I  would  have  you  understand  onoe  for 
all,  Tammas  Partan,"  she  began — ("  Weel  dune 
the  mistress ! "  said  Marget,  low  to  herself,  be- 
hind the  door) — "that  we  have  had  more  than 
enough  of  this!  I've  heard  every  word  ye've 
said  to  Mr.  Girmory,  for  the  door  was  left  open  " 
— ("  I  saw  to  that  mysel',"  said  Marget) — "  and  I 
want  you  to  carry  no  more  parish  clashes  into 
my  house  ! " 

"Hush,  hush!  my  dear;  Tammas  means  well!" 
said  the  minister,  deprecatingly. 

But  the  belligerent  little  woman  did  not  hear, 
16 


242  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

or  at  any  rate  did  not  heed,  for  she  continued  ad- 
dressing herself  directly  to  Tammas,  who  sat  on 
the  low  chair  as  if  he  had  been  dropped  there 
unexpectedly  from  a  great  height. 

"Take  for  granted,"  she  said,  "that  what- 
ever is  for  the  minister's  good  to  hear,  that 
he'll  hear  without  your  assistance.  And  you  can 
tell  your  friends,  Rob  Flint  and  Andrew  Banks, 
that  if  they  were  earlier  out  of  the  Red  Lion  on 
Saturday  night,  and  earlier  up  on  the  Sabbath 
morning,  they  would  maybe  be  able  to  appreciate 
the  sermon  better ;  and  ye  can  tell  Lame  Sandy, 
the  soutar,  that  when  he  stops  wearing  his  wife 
into  the  grave  with  his  ill  tongue,  he  may  have 
some  right  to  find  fault  with  the  minister  for  an 
afternoon  on  the  ice.  And  as  for  Gilbert  Loan's 
auntie,  just  ask  her  if  she  let  the  doctor  hear 
about  her  trouble,  or  if  she  expects  him  to  look 
in  and  ask  her  if  there's  anything  the  matter  with 
her  little  finger  every  time  he  passes  her  door  ! " 

She  paused  for  breath. 

"I  think  I'll  hae  to  be  gaun;  it's  a  coorse 
nicht !  "  said  the  object  on  the  chair,  staggering 
to  its  feet. 

"  Now,  Thomas,  no  offense  is  meant,  and  I 
hope  you'll  remember  that  I'm  only  speaking  for 
your  good,"  said  the  minister's  wife,  taking  a 
parting  shot  at  a  venture,  and  scoring  a  bull's- 
eye. 


A  MIDSUMMER  IDYL.  243 

"Guid-nicht,  Tammas  Partan,"  said  Marget, 
as  she  closed  the  door.  "  Haste  ye  back  again." 

But  Tammas  has  not  yet  revisited  the  manse 
ofDule. 


A  MIDSUMMER  IDYL. 

THE  THBEE  BRIDEGROOMS  AND  THE  ONE  BRIDE. 

YES,  sir,  I  am  the  registrar  of  births,  deaths,  and 
marriages  in  the  parish  of  Kilconquhar,  and  I  am 
asked  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Meg  MacGregor  and 
her  three  lads.  Well,  it's  an  old  tale  now,  and 
Meg's  boys  are  here  every  summer  vacation  pest- 
ering the  life  out  of  me  to  bait  their  lines  and 
dress  their  hooks.  But  it  is  a  tale  that  is  not  by 
any  means  forgotten  in  Kilconquhar,  and  in  the 
winter  forenights  the  wives  tell  it  to  this  day  in 
the  big  kitchen  where  the  lasses  are  at  their  knit- 
ting and  the  lads  are  making  baskets  of  the  long 
saugh  wands  before  the  heartsome  fire. 

It  was  mostly  the  wild  Gregor  blood  that  did  it ; 
but  Meg's  mother  was  an  Elliot  from  the  Border, 
and  we  all  know  that  that's  not  greatly  better. 
So  what  could  ye  expect  of  a  lassie  that  had  the 
daftness  in  her  from  both  sides  of  the  house,  as  ye 
might  say  ? 


244  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

Meg  was  a  beauty.  There  is  no  doubt  of  that. 
She  had  been  a  big-boned  "  hempie  "  at  the  Kirk- 
land  school  for  many  a  day,  playing  with  the 
laddies  when  they  would  let  her,  early  and  late. 
Yet  clever  at  her  books  when  she  would  take  the 
trouble  to  learn.  She  had  the  "  birr  "  and  go  of 
twenty  in  her  from  the  time  that  she  could  run 
alone.  Peter  Adair,  one  of  her  lads  that  was  to 
be,  came  roaring  in  to  his  mother  one  morning 
when  she  was  a  dotting  wee  thing  of  four  or  five. 

"What  for  are  ye  greetin'  like  that,  Peter?" 
said  his  mother.  "  Wha  has  been  meddlin'  ye  ?  " 
Peter  was  soft  in  disposition,  but  the  apple  of  his 
mother's  eye. 

"Meg  MacGregor  dadded  my  lugs  because  I 
wadna  let  her  kiss  me,"  said  the  gallant  Peter, 
between  his  sobs. 

His  mother  laughed.  "  Dinna  greet,  my  bonny 
wean,"  she  said ; "  the  day'll  may  be  come  when 
ye'll  change  yer  mind  aboot  that !  " 

But  when  that  day  did  come,  his  mother  did  not 
like  it  nearly  so  well  as  she  had  expected. 

When  Meg  was  between  sixteen  and  seventeen 
it  suddenly  occurred  to  everybody  that  she  was  a 
beauty.  It  was  at  a  party  at  the  New  Year  at  the 
Folds,  and  Meg  went  there  in  a  white  gown.  She 
had  been  at  the  dancing-school  that  Fiddler 
Stewart  had  in  the  village  that  winter,  and  she 
got  very  fond  of  the  dancing.  There  were  two  or 


A   MIDSUMMER   IDYL.  246 

three  lads  at  the  Folds  from  the  next  parish,  and  as 
soon  as  the  dancing  began  there  was  nobody  that 
was  sought  after  but  only  that  hempie  Meg. 

The  very  next  day  it  was  a  different  Meg  that 
walked  the  street,  and  a  different  Meg  it  was  that 
came  to  the  kirk  on  the  Sabbath.  She  rode  no 
more  astride  of  the  wildest  pony  in  the  glen,  but 
she  twined  the  lads  like  rushes  of  the  meadows 
round  the  least  of  her  fingers.  Her  father  was 
then,  as  he  is  to  this  day,  farmer  in  Stanniustane, 
and  as  douce  and  civil  a  man  as  there  is  in  the 
parish,  so  the  wild  blood  must  have  skipped  a 
generation  somehow.  Say  you  so,  sir  ?  Indeed, 
I  did  not  know  that  such  a  thing  could  be  explained 
scientifically,  but  it's  a  thing  I  have  noticed  time 
and  again.  "It  has  been  recently  discovered"  you 
say.  Dear  me,  I  did  not  know  it  had  ever  been 
forgotten.  "  Unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation  " 
is  an  old  saying  enough,  but  it's  not  unlikely  that 
the  wise  men  have  forgotten  all  about  Moses. 

Isobel  Elliot,  David  MacGregor's  wife,  died  when 
Meg  was  but  a  lassie,  and  David  himself  never 
laid  hand  on  his  daughter  in  the  way  of  correction 
all  his  life.  She  did  as  she  liked  with  her  father 
all  the  days  of  her  life — as,  indeed,  for  the  matter 
of  that,  she  did  with  every  one  in  this  parish,  with 
the  very  minister  when  the  fit  was  on  her,  as  ye 
shall  hear — 

"  With  yourself,  for  instance,  registrar  f  " 


246  THE   STICKIT  MINISTER. 

Me  ?  Oh,  no,  sir.  I'm  a  man  that  is  well  stricken 
in  years  and  she  would  not  trouble  with  me,  but  I 
do  not  deny  that  there  was  that  in  the  lassie  that 
one  could  not  help  but  like,  though  as  an  elder  I 
felt  it  my  duty  to  give  her  a  word  of  caution  and 
advice  more  than  once  or  twice. 

What  said  she  to  that?  Well,  sir,  she  said  not 
much ;  but  she  turned  her  eyes  up  at  me  under  the 
fringes  of  her  eyelashes,  and  pushing  out  her  red 
lips  discontentedly,  she  said : 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  The  lads  will  not  let  me 
alone.  I'm  sure  I  want  none  of  them ! " 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  Meg  ?  "  said  I 
Bmiling-like  at  her. 

"Indeed,  registrar,"  says  she,  "that  I  don't 
know.  Unless  " — here  the  witch  looked  shyly  up 
at  me  with  her  eyes  fairly  swimming  in  mischief 
— •"  unless  ye  maybe  micht  tak'  me  yourseF." 

Keenest  of  all  her  suitors — "  clean  daft "  about 
her,  said  the  country-side — were  three  lads  of 
the  parish.  The  first  I  have  mentioned  already, 
Peter  Adair,  was  his  mother's  son.  She  lived  in 
the  large  house  with  the  gate  that  stood  a  little 
back  from  the  village  street  by  the  side  of  the 
bridge.  She  had  money,  and  Peter  being  a  deli- 
cate lad  in  his  mother's  estimation,  and  the  apple 
of  her  eye  at  all  times,  had  been  kept  at  home 
when  he  should  have  been  learning  some  pro- 
fession. There  was  now  and  then  a  talk  of  hit 


A  MIDSUMMER   IDYL.  247 

going  up  to  Edinburgh  to  learn  the  scientific 
farming  before  he  took  a  farm  of  his  own,  but  it 
had  never  come  to  anything.  He  had  fallen  madly 
in  love  with  Meg,  however,  and  went  regularly 
to  town  on  Wednesdays  to  have  a  chance  of  talk- 
ing with  her  for  five  minutes  as  she  went  about 
her  shopping.  His  mother  had  so  far  yielded  to 
his  wishes  as  to  get  David  MacGregor  to  take 
him  on  at  Stanninstaue  to  try  his  hand  at  the 
practical  part  of  farming.  He  was  in  ecstasy, 
for,  thought  he,  who  knows  what  opportunities 
there  may  be  of  seeing  Meg  in  the  intervals  of 
daily  duty.  But  when  David  handed  him  over 
to  the  grieve,  that  unsympathetic  Ayrshire  man 
said,  "Practical  fermin'!  Gertie,  he  shall  hae 
that  or  my  name's  no'  James  Greg!"  Where- 
upon in  five  minutes  the  delicate-handed  Peter 
found  himself  on  the  top  of  a  cart  with  a  fork  in 
his  hand,  taking  his  first  lesson  in  practical  farm- 
ing by  learning  how  to  apply  to  the  soil  the  nat- 
ural fertilizers  necessary  for  next  year's  crop. 
He  had  two  days  of  that,  when  he  resigned  and 
went  home,  having  decided  that  after  all  scientific 
farming  was  more  in  his  line. 

Peter  Adair  was  known  to  be  rich — at  least  in 
expectations — but  nobody  thought  that  Meg  would 
favor  him  on  that  account.  Being  an  heiress  in 
her  own  right,  she  had  no  need.  It  was,  there- 
fore, with  very  great  surprise  that  I  was  called 


248  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

into  the  office  where  I  do  my  registrar's  business, 
and  authorized  by  Peter  to  put  up  his  name  on 
the  board  along  with  that  of  Margaret  MacGregor, 
Spinster,  also  of  this  parish. 

"  Meg's  at  the  door,"  he  said ;  "  but  she  did  not 
like  to  come  in." 

Accordingly  I  went  to  the  door,  and  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Meg  vanishing  into  Webster  the 
draper's,  two  doors  above. 

Peter  had  not  long  gone  his  way  when  another 
knock  came  to  the  door. 

I  opened  the  door  myself.  It  was  just  growing 
dusk,  and  I  could  hear  Meg  MacGregor's  voice 
saying: 

"  I  telled  ye  afore  ye  can  gie  in  the  names  if  ye 
like,  but  I'll  no  tell  ye  whether  I'll  hae  ye  or  no' 
till  the  first  of  August.  That's  my  twenty-first 
birthday,  and  I'll  no'  hae  a  mind  o'  my  ain  till 
that  day." 

Again  a  single  man  came  into  the  little  office, 
lighted  with  the  oil  lamp  which  always  smelled  a 
little  when  I  had  the  trimming  of  it  to  do  myself. 
It  was  Robert  Hislop,  the  stalwart  son  of  the 
farmer  of  Netherton,  known  to  be  the  strongest 
man  in  the  parish.  He  had  waited  many  a  long 
night  to  have  the  duty  of  taking  Meg  home  from 
all  the  soirees  and  parties  in  the  neighborhood. 
He  was  a  steadfast,  sturdy,  and  stupid  fellow 
Who  had  first  of  all  come  about  the  Stanninstane 


A  MIDSUMMER   IDYL.  249 

farm-house  to  court  Meg's  younger  sister  Bess ; 
but  who,  like  a  piece  of  loose  paper  on  the  plat- 
form of  a  way-side  station  when  the  Flying 
Scotsman  thunders  through,  had  been  drawn  into 
the  wake  of  the  greater  power. 

The  story  which  connected  him  with  Meg  was 
one  very  characteristic  of  the  man.  He  had  been 
seeing  Meg  and  her  sister  home  from  some  party 
over  at  the  village,  and  they  had  got  as  far  on 
their  way  as  the  dark  avenue  under  the  trees 
where  the  white  gate  of  the  manse  and  the  black 
gate  of  the  kirk-yard  face  each  other  in  a  weird 
whispering  silence  under  the  arch  of  leaves. 
There  had  been  stories  of  a  ghost  which  walked 
there,  and  Bess  MacGregor  was  in  a  state  of  nerv- 
ous excitement.  Meg  alternately  played  with 
and  laughed  at  the  fears  of  her  sister.  As  they 
came  between  the  gates  something  white  leaped 
along  the  wall  with  an  eldritch  shriek  and 
stood  gibbering  upon  the  black  gate  of  the  kirk- 
yard. 

Bess  MacGregor  dropped  instantly  in  a  faint. 
Stalwart  Rob  Hislop  took  one  troubled  glance  at 
her.  Then  putting  her  into  the  hands  of  her 
sister,  he  said,  "  Pit  some  sna'  on  her  face ;  I'll  be 
back  the  noo ! " 

The  specter  did  not  wait  to  be  pursued,  but 
made  off  swiftly  among  the  tombs,  its  white 
robes  flying  in  the  wind.  Rob  Hislop  went  after 


250  THE  8TICKIT  MINI8TBB. 

it  with  the  intentness  of  a  greyhound  on  the  trail. 
He  caught  his  foot  in  some  twisted  grass,  fell 
heavily,  but  rose  again  in  an  instant.  He  saw 
the  specter  leap  the  wall  and  take  the  way 
through  the  fir-wood.  Swifter  than  before  he 
followed,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  ran  the  ghost 
down  in  a  glade  into  which  the  moon  was  peep- 
ing over  the  edge  of  a  cloud.  The  ghost  hallooed 
for  mercy  as  Rob's  heavy  weight  came  down  upon 
him. 

"  Let  me  up,"  he  said.  "  It's  only  fun.  I'm 
Tarn  M'Kittrick  frae  the  Gallaberry ! " 

"  Stan'  up,  then,  Tarn  M'Kittrick  frae  the  Galla- 
berry, for  I'm  gaun  to  gie  ye  the  best  lickin'  ye 
ever  got  in  your  life !  " 

Next  morning  Rob  was  down  at  the  village 
bright  and  early,  before  Purdie  the  grocer,  that 
sells  drugs  to  us  when  there's  not  time  to  go  to 
Dumfries  for  them,  had  down  his  shutters.  He 
rapped  at  his  door,  and  Purdie  opened  it. 

"Onybody  no'  weel,  Rob?"  he  says,  aston- 
ished like. 

"Hoo  muckle  stickin'  plaster  hae  ye,  Maister 
Purdie  ?  "  says  Rob,  anxiously. 

"  I  dinna,  ken,"  said  the  grocer  retreating  into 
his  shop  to  see ;  "  maybes  a  yaird  or  a  yaird  an'  a 
quarter." 

"Then  ye  had  better  gie  me  a  yaird  an*  a 
quarter,"  answered  Rob,  instantly 


A  MIDSUMMER  IDYL.  251 

"Preserve  us  a',  Rob,  what's  wrang?  Hae  a' 
your  kye  fallen  intil  the  quarry  hole  ?" 

"Na,"    said    Rob,    seriously;  "it's    for   Tarn 
M'Kittrick  o'  the  Gallaberry.    He  was  playing 
bogles  up  by  the  minister's  liggate  yestreen,  an' I 
misdoot  but  he  fell  and  hurt  himsel' ! " 
*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

Now,  sir,  you'll  hardly  believe  me,  though  I  can 
show  you  the  notices  in  a  minute,  but  that  very 
nicht  on  the  back  of  ten  o'clock  there  was  another 
knock  came  on  the  door,  and  in  comes  Frank 
Armstrong,  the  young  son  of  the  farmer  of  Lint- 
field,  whose  ground  marches  with  that  of  David 
MacGregor. 

"Are  you  going  to  be  married  to  Meg  Mac- 
Gregor?" said  I,  laughing. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  surprised.  "  Hoo  did  ye  ken 
that,  registrar?" 

You  might  have  knocked  me  down  with  a 
straw.  There  were  three  bridegrooms  to  one 
bride. 

"  Did  Meg  tell  ye  ye  were  to  come  an'  gie  in 
the  names  ?  "  said  I. 

«'  Ay,"  said  the  boy,  blushing  to  the  roots  of  his 
fair  hair,  for  he  was  only  a  year  older  than  Meg 
herself,  and  did  not  look  his  years. 

"  We  made  it  up  when  I  was  harvesting  there 
last  year ;  but  Meg,  she  wad  never  gie  a  decided 
answer  till  the  nicht." 


252  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  She  said  that  she  was  to  be  married  on  her 
twenty-first  birthday,  but  that  she  wadna  tell  me 
whether  she  wad  hae  me  till  we  were  afore  the 
minister.  '  But  ye  can  pit  up  the  names  gin  ye 
like,'  says  she." 

So  all  the  names  were  put  up. 

There  never  was  such  a  day  on  the  street  of 
this  village  as  what  there  was  that  day.  I  had  to 
lock  myself  in,  front  and  back,  and  get  my  gro- 
ceries through  the  window  in  the  gable  end,  but 
I  answered  no  questions ;  the  young  men  held 
their  counsel,  and  Meg  was  away  from  home. 

Some  one  went  to  see  the  minister  and  inform, 
him  of  the  scandal.  But  they  came  away  with 
a  flea  in  their  lug,  for  the  minister  told  them  that 
Meg  herself  had  trysted  him  to  marry  her  at 
Stanninstane  on  the  1st  of  August. 

"And  who  did  she  say  was  the  young  man?" 
inquired  the  deputation. 

"Well,"  said  the  minister,  running  his  hand 
through  his  white  locks,  "  I  don't  think  she  said, 
but  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  is  worthy  of  her.  I 
have  a  very  high  opinion  of  Margaret's  com- 
mon sense  and  practical  ability." 

"  Preserve  us,  she's  made  a  fule  o'  the  verra 
minister ! "  said  the  gossips. 

There  was  nothing  talked  about  but  the  mar- 
riage as  the  1st  of  August  came  on.  I  got  an  in- 


A  MIDSUMMER   TDYL.  253 

Vite  from  David  himself,  who  kept  a  very  straight 
upper  lip  on  the  subject.  There  were  many  that 
went  up  to  the  Stanninstane  loaning  end  to  see 
•what  was  to  come  of  it,  but  they  got  no  further, 
for  there  was  David  MacGregor's  two  brothers 
from  the  Highlands  with  big  sticks,  dour  and  de- 
termined chiels,  and  they  let  nobody  pass  but 
them  that  were  invited.  When  we  got  there  we 
were  shown  into  the  parlor,  where  about  twenty 
of  a  company  were  assembled.  Bess  moved 
about  as  shy  and  sweet  as  any  girl  need  be.  Out 
of  the  reach  of  the  more  brilliant  attractions  of  her 
sister,  she  was  a  very  pretty  young  woman.  Soon 
the  minister  came  in.  Peter  Adair  sat  and  sim- 
pered on  the  sofa  in  his  lavender  kids.  Rob  Hislop 
looked  exceedingly  uncomfortable  in  a  black  suit 
and  a  white  rose  which  Bess  had  pinned  in  his  but- 
tonhole. It  took  a  long  time  to  pin,  for  Rob  is  very 
tall,  and  Bess  could  hardly  reach  so  far  up.  Dur- 
ing the  operation  Rob  went  red  and  white  by 
turns,  and  looked  pitifully  at  Bess.  I  thought  that 
he  was  trying  vainly  to  read  her  sister's  decision  in 
her  eyes,  but  it  turned  out  that  I  was  wrong. 

Sharp  at  the  stroke  of  four  David  brought  Meg 
in  on  his  arm.  She  looked  radiant  in  fleecy  white, 
and  her  hair  in  rippling  waves  like  the  edge  of  the 
little  clouds  when  the  sun  begins  to  think  about 
going  to  bed.  Well,  yes,  sir,  if  I  am  a  crusty  old 
bachelor;  I  thank  God  I  was  not  born  blind. 


254  THE  STICKIT   MINISTER. 

"Let  the  parties  take  their  place,  said  the 
minister. 

Meg  looked  wildly  about. 

"  Where's  Frank  ?  "  she  cried,  going  suddenly 
as  white  as  her  dress. 

"  He  has  not  come  yet,"  said  Bess,  as  sweet  as 
a  ripe  gooseberry,  looking  innocently  at  her  sister ; 
"Rob  Hislop  says  he  saw  him  working  in  the 
barn !  " 

Meg  dropped  into  a  chair.  "It  serves  me 
right ! "  she  said,  beginning  to  sob.  "  It  serves  me 
quite  right.  I'll  not  be  married  to  anybody  but 
Frank.  I've  been  a  wicked  girl,  and  I  deserve  it ! " 

So  she  sat  and  cried  while  all  of  us  looked  help- 
lessly on.  Sometimes  she  glanced  up  at  us,  with 
the  tears  running  steadily  down  her  cheeks  and 
dripping  on  the  thin  white  of  her  marriage 
dress. 

Bess  stood  by  the  side  of  Rob  Hislop  very 
demure  and  quiet,  but  with  a  curious  light  on 
her  face. 

"  Run,"  she  said  suddenly  to  Rob,  "  and  bring 
Frank  Armstrong  here  this  minute. 

And  Rob  Hislop,  glad  to  find  something  to  do, 
started  immediately.  Peter  Adair  went  after 
him,  but  ere  they  were  clear  of  the  house,  Meg 
suddenly  started  from  her  chair  and  disappeared 
into  the  part  of  the  house  from  which  she  had 
come.  In  a  minute  I  followed  the  others  to  the 


A  MIDSUMMER  IDYL.  255 

door,  and  as  I  got  to  the  end  of  the  house  I  caught 
one  glimpse  of  Meg  MacGregor's  white  frock 
vanishing  down  the  woodside  path  which  led  in 
the  direction  of  Lintfield.  Rob  Hislop  and  Peter 
Adair  had  taken  the  same  direction,  but  had  gone 
round  by  the  highway.  It  is  said  that  Meg  found 
Frank  Armstrong  in  the  barn  getting  the  reaper 
ready  for  the  harvest.  But  no  one  knows  what 
she  said  to  him.  This  only  is  certain,  that  in  a 
little  Frank  and  Meg  came  arm  in  arm  along  the 
plantation  path,  his  father  and  brother  following 
full  of  surprise.  Frank  was  dressed  in  his  work- 
ing suit,  but  for  all  that  he  looked  a  bright  and 
handsome  bridegroom. 

Soon  the  two  messengers  came  in,  much  out  of 
breath. 

Meg  went  up  to  them  and  said,  "  Rob,  you'll  be 
best  man  and  tak'  in  Bessie.  It  was  her  ye  aye 
likit  best  at  ony  rate." 

"  I'll  no'  say  but  ye're  richt,"  said  Rob,  obedi- 
ently giving  his  arm  to  the  blushing  Bessie. 

"  And,  Peter,  you'll  forgive  me,  I'm  sure.  It's 
for  the  best,  an'  I  wad  never  have  got  on  wi'  yer 
mither!" 

Peter,  extended  his  hand  with  the  lavender 
glove  still  on  it. 

"  Weel,"  he  said,  "  maybes  it'll  be  a  relief  to 
her." 

So  Frank  Armstrong  married  Meg  MacGregor 


256  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

on  her  twenty-first  birthday  in  his  working  coat, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  Rob  Hislop  married 
Bessie  in  new  Sunday  "  blacks." 

Peter  Adair  still  lives  with  his  mother  in  the 
house  with  the  green  gate  by  the  bridge.  He  has 
started  a  poultry  show,  for  he  has  become  a  great 
pigeon  fancier.  Meg's  boys  spend  most  of  their 
time  with  him  when  they're  here.  But  what  put 
the  ploy  into  the  madcap  lassie's  head  is  more 
than  I  can  tell.  In  my  way  of  thinking,  it  was 
just  the  wild  blood  of  the  MacGregors  of  the 
Highlands,  and  indeed  the  Border  Elliots  are 
little  better,  as  is  indeed  generally  admitted. 


THE  TUTOR  OF  CURLYWEE. 

THE  minister  of  education  started  to  walk 
across  the  great  moors  of  the  Kells  Range  so 
early  in  the  morning  that  for  the  first  time  for 
twenty  years  he  saw  the  sun  rise.  Strong,  stal- 
wart, unkempt,  John  Bradfield,  Right  Honorable 
and  Minister  of  the  Queen,  strode  over  the  Gallo- 
way heather  in  his  rough  homespun.  "Ursa 
Major "  they  called  him  in  the  House.  His  col- 
leagues, festive  like  schoolboys  before  the  Old 
Man  with  the  portfolios  came  in,  subscribed  to 


THE  TUTOR  OF  CUELYWBB.  267 

purchase  him  a  brush  and  comb  for  his  hair,  for 
the  jest  of  the  cabinet  minister  is  even  as  the  jest 
of  the  schoolboy.  John  Bradfield  was  sturdy  in 
whatever  way  you  might  take  him.  Only  last 
session  he  had  engineered  a  great  measure  of 
popular  education  through  the  House  of  Com- 
mons in  the  face  of  the  antagonism,  bitter  and 
unscrupulous,  of  Her  Majesty's  Opposition,  and 
the  Gallic  lukewarmness  of  his  own  party.  So 
now  there  was  a  ripple  of  great  contentment  in 
the  way  he  shook  back  locks  which  at  forty-five 
were  as  raven  black  as  they  had  been  at  twenty- 
five,  and  the  wind  that  blew  gently  over  the  great 
billowy  expanse  of  rock  and  heather  smoothed 
out  some  of  the  crafty  crow's  feet  deepening 
about  his  eyes. 

When  he  started  on  a  thirty-mile  walk  over 
the  moors,  along  the  dark  purple  precipitous 
slopes  above  Loch  Trool,  the  glory  of  summer 
was  melting  into  the  more  Scottish  splendors  of  a 
fast  coming  autumn,  for  the  frost  had  held  off 
long,  and  then  in  one  night  had  bitten  snell  and 
keen.  The  birches  wept  sunshine,  and  the  rowan 
trees  burned  red  fire. 

The  minister  of  education  loved  the  great  spaces 
of  the  Southern  uplands,  at  once  wider  and  eerier 
than  those  of  the  Highlands.  There  tney  lie 
waiting  for  their  laureate.  No  one  has  sung  of 
them  nor  written  in  authentic  rhyme  the  strange 


258  THE   STICKIT   MINISTER. 

weird  names  which  the  mountain  tops  bandy 
about  among  each  other,  appellations  hardly 
pronounceable  to  the  Southron.  John  Bradfield, 
however,  had  enough  experience  of  the  dialect  of 
the  "Tykes"  of  Yorkshire  to  master  the  intrica- 
cies of  the  nomenclature  of  the  Galloway  uplands. 
He  even  understood  and  could  pronounce  the 
famous  quatrain — 

"  The  Slock,  Milquharker,  and  Craignine, 

The  Breeshie  and  Craignaw  ; 
The  five  best  hills  for  corklit 
That  ere  the  Star  wife  saw."  * 

The  minister  of  education  hummed  this  rhyme, 
which  he  had  learned  the  night  before  from  his 
host  in  the  tall  tower  which  stands  by  the  gate 
of  the  Ferrytown  of  Cree.  As  he  made  his  way 
with  long  swinging  gait  over  the  heather,  travel- 
ing by  compass  and  the  shrewd  head  which  the 
Creator  had  given  him,  he  was  aware  about  mid- 
day of  a  shepherd's  hut  which  lay  in  his  track. 
He  went  briskly  up  to  the  door,  passing  the  little 
pocket-handkerchief  of  kail-yard  which  the  shep- 
herd had  carved  out  of  the  ambient  heather.  The 

*  In  olden  times  the  rocks  and  cliffs  of  the  Dungeon  of 
Buchanwere  famous  for  a  kind  of  moss  known  as  "corklit," 
used  for  dyeing,  the  gathering  of  which  formed  part  of  the 
livelihood  of  the  peasantry.  At  one  time  it  was  much  used 
for  dyeing  soldiers'  red  coats. — Harper's  Rambles  in 
Galloway. 


THE  TUTOR  OP  CURLYWEE.  259 

purple  bells  grew  right  up  to  the  wall  of  gray- 
stone  dike  which  had  been  built  to  keep  out  the 
desr,  or  mayhap  occasionally  to  keep  them  in, 
when  the  land  was  locked  with  snow  and  venison 
was  toothsome. 

"  Good-day  to  you,  mistress,"  said  the  minister 
of  education,  who  prided  himself  on  speaking  to 
every  woman  in  her  own  tongue. 

"  And  good-day  to  you,  sir,"  heartily  returned 
the  sonsy,  rosy-cheeked  goodwife  who  came  to  the 
the  door,  "  an'  blithe  I  am  to  see  ye.  It's  no'  that 
aften  that  I  see  a  body  at  the  Back  Hoose  o* 
Curlywee." 

John  Bradfield  soon  found  himself  well  enter- 
tained— farles  of  cake,  crisp  and  toothsome  milk 
from  the  cow,  with  golden  butter  in  a  lordly  dish, 
cheese  from  a  little  round  kebbuck,  which  the 
mistress  of  the  Back  House  of  Curlywee  kept 
covered  up  with  a  napkin  to  keep  it  moist. 

The  goodwife  looked  her  guest  all  over. 

"  Ye'll  not  be  an  Ayrshire  man  nae,  I'm  thinkin'. 
Te  kind  o'  favor  them  in  the  features,  but  ye  hae 
the  tongue  o'  the  English." 

"  My  name  is  John  Bradfield,  and  I  come  from 
Yorkshire,"  was  the  reply. 

"  An'  my  name's  Mistress  Glencairn,  an*  my  man 
Tammas  is  herd  on  Curlywee.  But  he's  awa1 
ower  by  the  Wolfs  Slock  the  day  lookin'  for 
some  forwandered  yowes." 


260  THE  BTICKIT  MINISTER. 

The  minister  of  education,  satisfied  with  the 
good  cheer,  bethought  himself  of  the  curly  heads 
that  he  had  seen  about  the  door.  There  was  a 
merry  face,  brown  with  the  sun,  brimful  of  mis- 
chief, looking  round  the  corner  of  the  lintel  at 
that  moment.  Suddenly  the  head  fell  forward 
and  the  body  tumultuously  followed,  evidently  by 
some  sudden  push  from  behind.  The  small  youth 
recovered  himself  and  vanished  through  the  door, 
before  his  mother  had  time  to  do  more  than  say, 
"My  certes,  gin  I  catch  you  loons — ,"  as  she 
made  a  dart  with  the  handle  of  the  besom  at  the 
culprit. 

For  a  little  John  Bradfield  was  left  alone. 
There  were  sounds  of  a  brisk  castigation  outside, 
as  though  some  one  were  taking  vigorous  exercise 
on  tightly  stretched  corduroy.  "  And  on  the 
mere  the  wailing  died  away ! " 

"  They're  good  lads  eneuch,"  said  the  mistress, 
entering  a  little  breathless,  and  with  the  flush 
of  honest  endeavor  in  her  eye,  "  but  when  their 
f aither's  oot  on  the  hill  they  get  a  wee  wild.  But 
as  ye  see,  I  try  to  bring  them  up  in  the  way  that 
they  should  go,"  she  added,  setting  the  broom- 
stick hi  the  corner. 

"  What  a  pity,"  said  the  minister  of  education, 
"  that  such  bright  little  fellows  should  grow  up 
in  this  lonely  spot  without  an  education." 

He  was  thinking  aloud  more  than  speaking  to 


THE  TUTOR   OF   CURLYWEE.  261 

his  hostess.  The  herd's  wife  of  Curly  wee  looked 
him  over  with  a  kind  of  pity  mingled  with  con- 
tempt.  Edicated !  Did  ye  say  ?  My  certes,  but 
my  bairns  are  as  weel  edicated  as  onybody's 
bairns.  Just  e'en  try  them  gin  it  be  your  wull, 
sir,  an'  ye'll  fin'  them  no  that  far  ahint  yer  ain ! " 

Going  to  the  door,  she  raised  her  voice  to  the 
telephonic  pitch  of  the  Swiss  jodel  and  the  Austra- 
lian coo — ee" 

"  Jee-mie,  Aa-leck,  Aa-nie,  come  ye  a'  here  this 
meenit ! " 

The  long  Galloway  vowels  lingered  on  the  still 
air,  even  after  Mistress  Glencairn  came  her  ways 
into  the  house.  There  was  a  minute  of  great 
silence  outside.  Then  a  scuffle  of  naked  feet,  the 
sough  of  subdued  whispering,  a  chuckle  of  in- 
terior laughter,  and  a  prolonged  scuffling  just  out- 
side the  window. 

"  Gin  ye  dinna  come  ben  the  hoose  an'  be  douce, 
you  Jeemie,  an'  Rob,  an'  Alick,  I'll  come  till  ye 
wi'  a  stick!  Mind  ye,  your  faither  'ill  no  be 
lang  frae  hame  the  day." 

A  file  of  youngsters  entered,  hanging  their 
heads,  and  treading  on  each  other's  bare  toes  to 
escape  being  seated  next  to  the  formidable 
visitor. 

"  Wull  it  please  ye,  sir,  to  try  the  bairns'  learn- 
ing for  yourseP." 

A  Bible  was  produced,  and  the  three  boys  awl 


262  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

their  sister  read  round  in  a  clear  and  definite 
manner,  lengthening  the  vowels,  it  is  true,  but 
giving  them  their  proper  sound,  and  clanging 
their  consonants  like  hammers  ringing  on  anvils, 

"  Very  good ! "  said  John  Bradfield,  who  knew 
good  reading  when  he  heard  it. 

From  reading  they  went  on  to  spelling,  and  the 
great  Bible  names  were  tried  in  vain.  The  min- 
ister of  education  was  glad  that  he  was  examiner, 
and  not  a  member  of  the  class.  Hebrew  poly- 
syllables and  Greek  proper  names  fell  thick  and 
fast  to  the  accurate  aim  of  the  boys,  to  whom 
this  was  child's  play.  History  followed,  geog- 
raphy, even  grammar,  maps  were  exhibited,  and 
the  rising  astonishment  of  the  minister  of  educa- 
tion kept  pace  with  the  quiet  complacent  pride 
of  the  herd's  wife  of  Curlywee.  The  examina- 
tion found  its  climax  in  the  recitation  of  the 
"  Shorter  Catechism."  Here  John  Bradfield  was 
out  of  his  depth,  a  fact  instantly  detected  by  the 
row  of  sharp  examinees.  He  stumbled  over  the 
reading  of  the  questions  ;  he  followed  the  breath- 
less enunciation  of  that  expert  in  the  "  Caratches," 
Jamie,  with  a  gasp  of  astonishment.  Jamie  was 
able  to  say  the  whole  of  Effectual  Calling  in  six 
ticks  of  the  clock,  the  result  sounding  to  the 
uninitiated  like  the  prolonged  birr  of  intricate 
clock-work  rapidly  running  down. 
.  u  What  is  the  chief  end  of  man  ?  "  slowly 


THE  TUTOR   OF   CTTBLYWEE.  263 

queried  the  minister  of  education,  with  his  eyes 
on  the  book. 

"Mans-chiefend-glorifyGod-joyim-frever !"  re- 
turned Jamie  nonchalantly,  all  in  one  word,  as 
though  some  one  had  asked  him  what  was  his 
name. 

The  minister  of  education  threw  down  his  cat- 
echism. 

"  That  is  enough.  They  have  all  done  well, 
and  better  than  well.  Allow  me,"  he  said,  doubt- 
fully turning  to  his  hostess,  "  to  give  them  each 
a  trifle—" 

"  Na,  na,"  said  Mistress  Glencairn,  "  let  them 
e'en  do  their  work  withoot  needin'  carrots  had- 
den  afore  their  nose  like  a  cuddy.  What  wad 
they  do  wi'  siller  ?  " 

"Well,  you  will  at  least  permit  me  to  send 
them  each  a  book  by  post — I  suppose  that  you 
get  letters  up  here  occasionally?" 

« 'Deed,  there's  no  that  muckle  correspondence 
am  ting  us,  but  when  we're  ower  at  the  kirk,  there 
yin  o'  the  herds  on  Lamachan  that  gangs  doom 
by  to  see  a  lass  that  leeves  juist  three  miles  frae 
the  post  office,  an'  she  whiles  fetches  ocht  that 
there  may  be  for  us,  an'  he  gi'es  it  us  at  the  kirk." 

John  Bradfield  remembered  his  letters  and 
telegrams  even  now  entering  in  a  steady  stream 
into  his  London  office  and  overflowing  his  minis- 
terial tables,  waiting  his  return — a  solemnizing 


264  THE   STICKIT   MINISTEB. 

thought.  He  resolved  to  build  a  house  on  the 
Back  Hill  of  Curly  wee,  and  have  his  letters 
brought  by  way  of  the  kirk  and  the  Lamachan 
herd's  lass  that  lived  three  miles  from  the  post 
office. 

"  Got  wi'  ye ! "  said  the  mistress,  briefly,  ad- 
dressing her  offspring,  and  the  school  scaled  with 
a  tumultuous  rush,  which  left  a  sense  of  vacancy 
and  silence  and  empty  space  about  the  kitchen. 

"  And  now  will  you  tell  me  how  your  children 
are  so  well  taught  ?  "  said  John  Bradfield.  "How 
far  are  you  from  a  school  ?  " 

"  Weel,  we're  sixteen  mile  frae  Newton  Stewart, 
where  there's  a  schule  but  no  road,  an'  eleven 
frae  the  Clatterin'  Shaws,  where  there's  a  road 
but  no  schule." 

"How  do  you  manage,  then?"  The  minister 
was  anxious  to  have  the  mystery  solved. 

"  WE  KEEP  A  TUTOR  !  "  said  the  herd's  wife  of 
Curlywee,  as  calmly  as  though  she  had  been  a 
duchess. 

The  clock  ticked  in  its  shiny  mahogany  case, 
like  a  hammer  on  an  anvil,  so  still  it  was.  The 
cat  yawned  and  erected  its  back.  John  Brad- 
field's  astonishment  kept  him  silent. 

"  Keep  a  tutor,"  he  muttered ;  "  this  beats  all  I 
have  ever  heard  about  the  anxiety  of  the  Scotch 
peasantry  to  have  their  children  educated.  We 
have  nothing  like  this  even  in  Yorkshire." 


THE  TUTOR   OR   CTJRLYWEE.  265 

Then  to  his  hostess  he  turned  and  put  another 
question. 

"  And,  if  I  am  not  too  bold,  how  much  might 
your  husband  get  in  the  year  ?  " 

"  Tammas  Glencairn  is  a  guid  man,  though  he's 
my  man,  an'  he  gets  a  good  wage.  He's  well 
worthy  o't.  He  gets  three- an'-twenty  pound  in 
the  year,  half  score  o'  yowes,  a  coo's  grass,  a  bow 
o'  meal,  a  bow  o'  pitatas,  an'  as  mony  peats  as  he 
likes  to  cast,  an'  win',  an'  cairt." 

"  But  how,"  said  John  Bradfield,  forgetting  his 
manners  in  his  astonishment,  "  in  the  name  of 
fortune  does  he  manage  to  get  a  tutor  ?  " 

"  He  disna  keep  him.  /keep  him !  "  said  Mis- 
tress Glencairn  with  great  dignity. 

The  minister  of  education  looked  his  genuine 
astonishment  this  time.  Had  he  come  upon  an 
heiress  in  her  own  right  ? 

His  hostess  was  mollified  by  his  humbled  look. 

"  Ye  see,  sir,  it's  this  way,"  she  said,  seating 
herself  opposite  to  him  on  a  clean-scoured,  white 
wooden  chair,  "  there's  mair  hooses  in  this  neigh- 
borhood than  ye  wad  think.  There's  the  farm 
hoose  o'  the  Black  Craig  o'  Dee,  there's  the  herd's 
hoose  o'  Garrary,  the  onstead  o'  Neldricken,  the 
Dungeon  o'  Buchan — an'  a  wheen  mair  that,  gin 
I  telled  ye  the  names  o',  ye  wadna  be  a  bit  the 
wiser.  Weel,  in  the  simmer  time,  whan  the 
colleges  gang  doon,  we  get  yin  o'  the  college  lada 


266  THE   STICKIT    MINISTER. 

to  come  to  this  quarter.  There's  some  o'  them 
fell  fond  to  come.  An'  they  pit  up  for  three  or 
fewer  weeks  here,  an'  for  three  or  four  weeks  at 
the  Garrary  ower  by,  an'  the  bairns  travels  ower 
to  whaur  the  student  lad  is  bidin',  an'  gets  their 
learnin'.  Then  when  it's  time  for  the  laddie  to 
be  gaun  his  ways  back  to  college,  we  send  him 
awa'  weel  buskit  wi'  muirland  claith,  an'  weel 
providit  wi'  butter  an'  eggs,  oatmeal  an'  cheese 
for  the  comfort  o'  the  wame  o'  him.  Forbye  we 
gather  up  among  oorsels  an'  bid  him  guid  speed 
wi'  a  maitter  o'  maybe  ten  or  twal'  poun'  in  his 
pooch.  Art  that's  ths  way  we  keep  a  tutor/  " 


THE 


REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000102802     6 


